by Donna Fasano
Had he been trying to set her mind at ease about their making love? If so, then why didn’t he urge her to undress?
No, he was insinuating something deeper. Something longer-lasting than a mere one night stand.
She closed her eyes and tried to put together such a situation. How would it work?
How could she keep him from seeing her? Would she lock the bathroom door to shower? Would she scurry into the walk-in closet to get dressed every morning?
Is that how she’d want to live?
Total defeat filled the sigh that issued from her.
A waft of hot, stream-filled air rolled between her and the mirror, enveloping her in a foggy mist and obscuring her reflection from view. She turned wearily toward the shower.
Chapter Eleven
Heather held up the tiny newborn-size sleeper, inspecting it, front and back. The colors and decoration on the whisper-soft knit fabric was perfect—cute, yellow ducks sitting among sprigs of green grass. Sara wasn’t far enough along in her pregnancy to learn if she was having a girl or a boy, so all the purchases made on this baby shopping spree were to be gender-neutral. Heather found a pair of white newborn booties too adorable to resist. Cathy had already made her purchase; a mobile for the crib fashioned out of large squares with black and white lines and circles as she’d read the vivid dark and light contrast provided good visual stimulation for newborns.
While Heather paid the cashier, Sara placed the basic, white cotton onesies on the counter next to the register.
“You two do not have to do this, you know,” Sara repeated for what must have been the half-dozenth time.
“Are you kidding?” Cathy shifted the bag on her arm. “We’re not picking out gifts for our precious bundle because we have to.”
“She’s right, Sara,” Heather said. “Auntie Cathy and Auntie Heather intend to buy our way to being the baby’s two favorite people in the whole world.”
Cathy’s eyebrows arched as she murmured, “And I spent the most today. Just saying.”
Heather waved her off. “There’s plenty of time for me outspend you today.”
The three of them walked out into the parking lot, continuing to laugh and razz each other—because that’s how their friendship had lasted so long, through a mutual free-for-all of heckling and mockery. It worked perfectly for them.
They’d met at the White Marlin Mall in West Ocean City a few hours before, each arriving in her own car, and they’d parked in what had become known to them over the years as “their” spot, centrally located in the lot so they could easily reach their favorite stores and remain close to all the restaurants.
After tucking her purchases into the trunk of Sara’s car, Heather slammed shut the lid and turned to face her friends.
“You know, Sara,” she said, “this bambino of yours is going to be my and Cath’s only outlet for kid-spoiling.”
“What? Why would you say that?” Cathy wagged her finger in the air. “I think you’d better just speak for yourself, missy.”
Heather snickered. “I realize that getting married isn’t a pre-requisite these days, but having viable eggs is.”
Cathy’s jaw dropped a fraction. “How dare you say my eggs aren’t viable.”
“I’m saying,” Heather stressed, “that you’re not getting any younger, sweets. You’d better hurry your butt up.”
“But I thought thirty-five was the new twenty-five,” Cathy lamented.
Heather tossed her friend an ornery grin. “Cathy, at your next birthday party, aren’t we going to play Musical Recliners?”
Humor got the better of Cathy and she chuckled. “And a game of Sag, You’re It would be fun.”
Heather snickered.
“Or, or,” Cathy quipped, “Pin the Toupee on the Bald Guy.”
“How about Spin the Bottle of Milk of Magnesia?”
“Okay, cut it out.” Sara said, “Both of you still have plenty of time.”
The comment surprised Heather enough to make her draw back. “Sara, I won’t be having children. Ever.”
Sara frowned, instinctively reaching down and placing her hand on the outside of her coat on her lower abdomen. Heather found the spontaneous action quite endearing.
“Don’t say that.” Sara placed her other hand on top of the one on her belly.
“I’m sure we’ve talked about this before,” Heather told her. “I’m not taking a chance of passing on that horrible gene mutation to an innocent child.” She shook her head. “Nope, no kids for me.”
“That’s sad, though,” Sara said. “You’d make a great mom.”
Heather shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just being practical.”
Cathy slid her arm around Heather’s, pulling her friend close. “You can spoil my kid when I have him. He’s going to be cute as a freakin’ button. You won’t be able to resist buying him all sorts of crap he doesn’t need.”
Heather sighed. “Well, please don’t wait until you’re so old that going bra-less pulls all the wrinkles out of your face.”
“I won’t wait that long.” Cathy grinned. “I promise.”
“And we promise you that we won’t let you go bare breasted. Ever.” Sara offered an animated shiver, and then laughed as she tugged her scarf closer around her neck. “So what’s for dinner? I’m starved.”
Looking around at all their choices, Heather asked, “Sushi? Steaks? Pizza? What’s it going to be?”
Sara’s expression turned serious. “I think I have a sudden craving for pasta with pesto.”
Cathy swept Heather along, hooking her free arm in Sara’s and heading toward the Italian place. “The pregnant lady wins.”
Heather happily told them, “Hey, I love warm, crusty bread as much as you do.” Then she rolled her eyes and added, “Probably more.”
The waitress had taken their salad plates and was clearing room on the table for their entrees. As soon as she left them alone, Sara heaved a sigh.
“Why do men have such a difficult time forgiving?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” Cathy tugged at the napkin in her lap. “You and Landon been fighting?”
Sara shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s not us. But I suggested to him that he might invite his sister and her family to come to Ocean City for the wedding, and he’s having a hard time coming to grips with the idea of getting over… you know, all of that.”
The all of that that Sara was talking about was a great deal for anyone to get over. Landon’s sister and her husband had gone against Landon’s wishes and had sold the family farm back in Kansas right out from under Landon. His sister and brother-in-law had landed smartly on their feet after the sale while Landon had been left feeling as if he’d been hung out to dry. He’d gotten into his truck and driven east toward the Atlantic Ocean.
“Did you remind him,” Cathy said, “that, without his Kansas trouble, the two of you might never have met?”
Sara answered the question with an uncertain smile.
The circumstances surrounding Landon and Sara’s meeting had been so strange—eerily so, really—that the three friends were still uncomfortable talking about it.
“He’ll come around, I’m sure,” Heather finally said.
“He’d better hurry up.” Sara leaned back to let the waitress set down the plate of angel hair pasta in front of her, and then she said a quick thank you before continuing the conversation. “I don’t want to stand in front of the Justice of the Peace when I’m looking like a whale.”
“Oh, stop. You’re not going to look like a whale.” Cathy picked up her fork and grinned. “A beach ball, maybe.”
“Makes sense. Because that’s what she’s going to have,” Heather chimed in. “Our little beach ball.”
Sara just chuckled. She coiled a forkful of pasta and took a bite, savoring it with a long, drawn out, “Mmmmm.”
“How’s your mom?” Cathy asked Sara.
Geneva Hartford lived in Sara’s house in the separate, downstairs unit. Years ago, th
e woman had suffered an accident that had damaged her back and she spent most days in some degree of pain.
Sara’s face brightened. “I don’t think I told you. Mom’s doc is sending her to Philadelphia next month. I’m going to drive her up there. To a new spine center that recently opened.”
Heather set down her fork. “Do you think they’ll be able to help her? Is there a way to alleviate her pain?”
“Her doctor claims this place is cutting edge,” Sara said. “He says great strides have been made in laser surgery for the back and spine. He seems to think, at the very least, they can treat her stenosis and make her more comfortable. He suggested it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that we might be able to do away with the wheelchair, and that she might be able to walk without a cane.”
Cathy and Heather both ooo-ed over this wonderful prospect. No one deserved to live a life of misery, and that’s exactly what Geneva had done since she fell down those stairs all those years ago.
Heather couldn’t help but ask, “And how does she feel about all this?”
Sara twirled her fork in her pasta. “She refuses to let herself get excited. But I can see that she’s… well, let’s call it cautiously optimistic.” She lifted the angel hair to her mouth but stopped short. “Cathy, she asked me about you last night.”
“Oh?”
“One of the ladies from the church came to visit yesterday,” Sara said. “She told Mom that she’d heard the Beach Patrol has come up with a new fundraiser for the spring. Mom wanted to know if you’re planning to get involved since your Bradley is heading it up.”
Cathy’s exhale was audible. “He’s not my Bradley. You did correct her, didn’t you?”
Humor danced in Sara’s eyes as she chewed and she lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug.
“Sar-ahhh,” Cathy complained.
“Come on, Cath,” Heather joined in the teasing. “Everyone in town knows he’s your Bradley.”
A cat-like arch raised Cathy’s brows. “Oh, I think quite a few women in Ocean City think differently.” Her mouth screwed up as she muttered, “Much differently.” Then she shot a pointed look across the table. “Not that I mind.”
Since her divorce, Cathy had always made it clear she’d never settle down again, and she’d never wavered on that conviction. Ever. Even during those times when she and Brad had those “on again” moments.
Heather couldn’t resist a final poke. “Admit it. You mind. I mean, really, if you were to have a kid some day, I’d wager my B&B that the baby daddy would be Brad.”
Cathy’s smile waned and her face went red, and Sara and Heather both immediately went into mollifying mode.
“Don’t get your thong in a knot now,” Sara said quickly.
“I was just teasing.” Heather lifted her hands. “You know that.” She murmured an apology, picked up her fork, and speared a delicate cheese ravioli. The sheet of pasta had been cooked to a perfect al dente and the filling was light and creamy.
“Did Geneva say what kind of fundraiser it will be?” Cathy asked.
Sara shook her head. “Only that your—” She stopped short by clamping her mouth shut, and she cast a contrite glance at Cathy. “Only that Bradley is heading it up.”
“Well,” Cathy muttered, “It’s sure to be a success. I don’t know how the man does it. He works part time with the Beach Patrol, part time with the EMTs, and volunteers more hours to more charities than any normal person could possibly spare. How does he make ends meet?”
What Heather heard was that Bradley worked jobs that mattered—he saved lives—as a lifeguard in the summer and a medical tech during the off season. And he volunteered a lot of his time which made him extremely philanthropic, in her view. Most people would be impressed with how he chose to live his life, yet Cathy made his endeavors sound… terribly lacking. How he paid his bills was his business. Heather suspected Cathy’s attitude had a lot to do with Brad’s womanizing ways, but wasn’t going to risk ticking off her friend by saying it.
The physical nature of both his occupations forced him to stay in great physical condition, and with his blond, blue-eyed good looks, it was only natural that women gravitated to him, wasn’t it? Why shouldn’t he partake of the fun that came his way? Cathy made it clear, over and over, that she wasn’t interested in him more than their occasional bed-buddy relationship.
Realizing that voicing these thoughts would only grate on Cathy, Heather didn’t respond to what she knew was a rhetorical question.
“So how are things at The Loon?” Sara asked Heather.
Startled by the sudden change in the conversation, she just said, “Fine.”
Cathy leaned toward her a bit. “Is the quiet still driving you nuts?”
The quiet? The house hadn’t been so quiet last night.
A smile stole across her lips. “I’m learning to enjoy the quiet.”
Cathy looked at Sara. “Is it me? Or is there something awfully cryptic about that answer.”
Sara’s mouth curled at the corners and she nodded. “Something’s going on there, that’s for sure.”
“Something naughty?” Cathy asked Sara, then her gaze swept to Heather’s face. “Are you bumping dirty bits with Daniel?”
Heather rolled her eyes and reached for her wine glass.
Using a low tone, Sara asked, “Are the two of you participating in genital gyrations?”
Heather nearly choked on the sip of wine she’d taken. She swallowed and coughed. “Sara! I expect that kind of vulgarity from Cathy, but not from you.”
Sara’s eyes glistened as she tilted her head and shrugged.
Sex between two consenting adults was normal. Natural. Why should she feel embarrassed that her friends might discover that she and Daniel had slept together? Even as the question whispered through her mind, she could feel the heat creeping through her body, up her neck, and into her face.
“Oh. My.” Cathy wiped her fingers on her napkin and then reached across the table to lightly smack Heather on the upper arm. “You go, girl.”
The teasing humor that had shined in Sara’s gaze a moment before now softened to pure delight. “I’m so happy for you, Heather. I mean it.”
Self-consciousness continued to rattle Heather and she had a difficult time looking at them. She had no idea why. They were her friends, knew that physical intimacy wasn’t easy for her, that inhibitions and fears kept her from being involved in a relationship with a man.
Certainly, her disquiet was caused by the indecision she felt about having had sex with Daniel. On the one hand, his passionate kisses and gentle touch had roused in her the most beautiful, freeing sensations she’d ever experienced; while on the other, having woken up with her clothing bunched and hiked and twisted around her like a noose had brought some stark revelations. How could something so wonderful also cause such wretched fear?
Easily, she thought, when her scarred, disfigured body was part of the equation.
Glancing up, she saw both of them staring at her, waiting in gleeful anticipation.
“I can’t talk about it.” The words came out sounding hoarse.
“Of course, you can,” Cathy said with a chuckle.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, Heather,” Sara said softly, “you don’t have to. It’s okay.”
“I have to admit, I’m… surprised.” Cathy picked up her wine glass. “I’m… really surprised.” Then she quickly added, “I’m happy for you, though.”
“Really? Because if I remember correctly, you told me you didn’t trust him.”
Cathy didn’t respond; she stared down into her wine, swirled the glass, took a drink.
After Heather’s declaration that she couldn’t talk about last night, she was surprised when the words began trickling from her mouth like a water from a leaky pipe.
“He was so gentle.” Her gaze darted across the tabletop, settling on the salt shaker. “Yet he was so… urgent.”
The food on her dinner plate was forgotten as
she continued. “I told him about my operation. Not everything, mind you. Just about the mastectomy. Just enough so that he’d… understand. About my… body issues. And I do feel like he, well, like he got it, you know? He didn’t try to remove my dress. Didn’t try to open the zipper, the buttons. None of that.”
Sara and Cathy had both gone quiet, and she knew they were listening intently to her.
“We were right in the throes,” she told them, “of these glorious…” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, remembering how it was to be with him. “What he made me feel was so amazing.” Her words slowed. “So wondrously breathtaking.”
She paused long enough to swallow and lick her lips, her eyes still focused on the small holes in the top of the salt shaker. “But in the middle of it all, he hesitated. He stared into my eyes and whispered, told me that it didn’t matter. His assurance was so kind. What he said was, ‘It doesn’t matter. The surgery. The mastectomy. The reconstruction. It doesn’t matter.’ And the way he looked at me.” She paused long enough that both Sara and Cathy went still. “It was as though… he had more he wanted to say.” She shook her head, afraid she wasn’t explaining her thoughts clearly. “I don’t know. It was as if… he knew. Everything. As if he knew the truth about what my body looked like beneath my clothes.”
Heather looked from Sara to Cathy, and the expression on Cathy’s face made her do a double take.
“What is it?” Heather asked.
Cathy had gone as white as the table cloth. “I can’t lie to you, Heather. As much as I want to, I just can’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
Cathy’s throat convulsed in a nervous swallow. “He does know.”
The three tiny words Cathy uttered sounded strangled and weak, but they were enough to stop Heather cold. She tipped up her chin and looked Cathy square in the face.
“What?” The question was ice-pick-sharp and out of her mouth before she saw the emotion welling in Cathy’s eyes. A fat tear spilled, trailing down her cheek. Heather frowned. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about, Cathy?”
Looking to her left, Heather saw from Sara’s innocent expression that she didn’t know what was going on either.
