HUNCHED OVER HIS DESK, Scott reviewed media coverage for the San Antonio market, unsure whether they had sufficient exposure in the Hispanic community. Already some ads were running on TV, and Sunday’s paper would have a huge spread. With the grand opening less than a month away, it was crunch time. Ward Jordan expected results and Harper Concepts aimed to produce them.
But at what expense?
Scott rose, stretched and walked to the door. Up and down the hall, employees were hard at work, the atmosphere tension-charged in the same way a locker room heats up with pregame jitters. By and large, his group was motivated and committed to making this campaign successful. Scott wished he could get into it more. Here he’d realized a dream, but he didn’t have time to savor it. He worked longer hours than ever, sometimes getting home well after midnight. But his heart wasn’t in it the way he had anticipated it would be for such a major account.
At the oddest times of the day he would find himself thinking about his father. Was that how it all ended? Work your fingers to the bone, retire and get zapped by a stroke or a heart attack?
Then there was Justin. Something was eating the kid, beyond his grandfather’s condition. When Scott had tried to talk to him about the football game, Justin had mumbled the final score and then flipped on the television, effectively forestalling any father-son chat. Maybe he could simply chalk the kid’s behavior up to adolescent moodiness, but there was this look about him. Watchful. Wary. Secretive.
Scott worked the kinks out of his neck and shoulders as he returned to his desk, but when he sat down, he ignored the stack of papers and focused instead on the photograph on his desk of Meg and him at some long-ago country-club function. She wore a stunning, low-cut black dress. Scott studied the picture—her face turned toward him, one delicate hand resting lovingly on the lapel of his tuxedo. He’d give anything to see that same adoring look again. Had they truly been happier then or was it just a trick of photography? He did remember having the distinct sense that she adored him, earlier in their marriage. And he’d basked in it. From junior high on, girls chased after him, and he’d thrived on the attention. He’d taken for granted that as captain of the basketball team, class president and honor-roll student, he could have his pick of any girl in his class. College was no different. But something had been lacking. He’d never been sure any of them wanted him for him and not for the status he represented.
Meg was different. When he met her in that dental office, she’d had no idea who he was, what accomplishments were listed in his résumé. For the first time, he was pretty sure a woman liked him solely for him. He admired her grit, making something of herself following her mother’s death. She had nobody. He’d figured he could protect her, be her everything.
He picked up the photograph to look at it more closely. They’d been so young, then. So carefree. Finally, with a sigh, he set it down. How long had it been since she’d needed him? She was competence personified handling the kids’ schedules and activities, running half of the women’s clubs in their area, learning to play nearly scratch golf and a decent game of tennis. At times he felt like a plasterboard figure propped in the appropriate place at the appropriate time and labeled Meg’s Husband.
Under the current circumstances, though, he didn’t know what he’d do without her organizational skills. Just keeping track of all Pops’s appointments and medications was a full-time job. His mother, used to being dependent on her husband, was struggling with the whole situation, which put even more of the burden on Meg. She was managing. Just. But for how long?
He stared at the work memos in front of him. What should’ve been a fulfilling challenge for him held all the excitement of sawdust.
He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. How could he be feeling sorry for himself when professionally he had it made? Somehow he’d have to gear himself up for the big push. Win one for the Gipper. But as he mentally recommitted to the campaign, he experienced niggling guilt. He’d basically abdicated the home front to Meg.
“Scott, got a minute?”
He looked up to see Wes peering into his office. “Sure. Have a seat.”
“How’s your dad this week?”
“Moving better, getting some of the feeling back in his arm and hand. But the speech? It’s slow.”
“Tough break. I’m sorry he’s having to go through this.”
Scott sighed. “Me, too.” He tilted his chair forward. “How can I help you?”
“It’s about San Antonio. The preopening gala for the chamber of commerce, civic leaders, the media. You know the drill. I told you I’d cover it, but something’s come up.”
Scott bit back a twinge of irritation. What could be more important? “Oh?”
“Susie’s hysterectomy got rescheduled for that week. I’ll need to be here with her. Help out with the kids.” He lifted his hands in resignation.
“Of course, you need to be with your wife and family.” Scott held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Can you cover it? Brenda’ll be going, too. So will Jim Tate.”
The mention of the middle-aged account executive’s name did nothing to assuage the sudden apprehension Scott felt. Meg already had her suspicions about Brenda, and even though he’d tried to convince himself that his colleague’s affectionate gestures were just part of her personality, he didn’t trust Jim Tate to serve as an adequate chaperone.
Nor was he sure he trusted Brenda.
“Sure, Wes. Not to worry,” he heard himself say.
Not to worry? The last thing he—or Meg…needed was more Branda drama. More than anything he wanted to go home and spend time with Meg and the kids. And maybe in the process rediscover his marriage. And his family.
IF IT WOULDN’T BE PERCEIVED as rude, Meg would’ve clapped her hands over her ears and closed her eyes to escape sensory overload. The ladies’ locker room reverberated with the shrill voices of women with nothing more important to discuss than new shades of nail polish, their winter golfing vacations to Florida or Arizona and the insidiousness of the pin placement on the seventeenth hole. Bright yellow lockers, lime-green walls and the earthy scent of newly mown turf mixed with heavy, floral colognes was a perfect recipe for a headache.
She wouldn’t be there today except as pairings chair of the Ladies’ Golf Association, she was expected to participate in the golf round and end-of-season luncheon. Once upon a time, the country club had symbolized her arrival, the pinnacle of her and Scott’s upward climb in Tulsa society. Today, after weeks of tending to Bud, it screamed superficiality. Or was she merely experiencing sour grapes? She’d had to give up a lot to make room for her new responsibilities. Looking around the locker room, she wondered if any of the other women had the faintest idea how demanding caring for a stroke patient could be.
When the crowd thinned, Meg slipped out of her golfing outfit and headed for the shower. Prickles of hot water soothed her bunched shoulder muscles and she relished the time to herself. Still, she had to make her requisite appearance at the luncheon before going home.
Sighing, she turned off the water, wrapped a hand towel around her wet hair and padded back to her locker. She’d hesitated to leave Bud alone all day with Marie, which was silly, she knew. But what if he wanted to go for a walk? Marie was tiny. Could she support him if he stumbled?
Marie was turning over more of the home therapy to Meg. It seemed she was either in denial that Bud needed help, or she just didn’t have the heart to inflict any discomfort on him. She was more content to hole up in the kitchen cooking far more food than was healthy for any of them and let Meg put Bud through his paces.
Two or three ladies remained in the locker room, one of them Candy Stimson, whose daughter was in Hayley’s class. Candy was the kind of mother whose parenting decisions more often than not indicated a lack of mature judgment, as if Candy herself were the teenager pursuing the goddess of popularity.
Cradling a soft-drink can, Candy looked over at Meg. “We haven’t seen you here for a while.”
Meg gave her the shortest answer she could think of. “I’ve been busy.”
“I imagine you’ve got your hands full with Hayley.” The woman practically simpered, her eyes glinting.
Indignation, hot and pure, rose from Meg’s toes up, but she didn’t want to give Candy the satisfaction of a retort. “Well, that’s teenagers for you.”
“Maybe, but at least my daughter isn’t dating that wild Zach Simon.”
Meg fought back panic. What was Candy implying? “Hayley isn’t dating much.”
“Oh, no? How come I see her riding around after school most days in Zach’s car?”
Meg drew herself up. She was under the impression that Hayley stayed for cheerleading practice every day. “You must be mistaken.”
“Well, choose to believe what makes you happy. But Lori said they were quite an item at Greg Farraday’s after-game party last weekend.”
Hayley? At a party? She’d gone back to Jill’s after the game. Hadn’t she? Meg glanced at her watch. “Excuse me, but I need to finish getting dressed. I don’t want to miss the luncheon.”
Candy knew a brush-off when she heard one. “Never say I didn’t warn you.” Then, taking the final swig of her drink, she swept out of the locker room.
Meg sank down on a bench. Could there be any truth in what Candy had said? What if Hayley was, indeed, sneaking around with the Simon boy? She didn’t even want to think about it.
Nor did she want one more problem to deal with. She found herself yearning for Scott in a way that was immediate and painful. She needed his help. She was tired of being a martyr to the family, tired of once again playing second fiddle to Harper Concepts.
She wasn’t going to deal with this one alone. Hayley was Scott’s daughter, too. No matter how late he returned home tonight, he wasn’t getting off the hook. However difficult it might be, she and Scott needed to present a united front.
Meg finished dressing and left the locker room, only then realizing she’d actually given credence to what Candy had said about Hayley. Yet no matter how hard she tried to come up with alternative explanations, in her heart she knew it was true.
BUD SAT WITH MARIE IN the sitting room off the master suite watching one of her favorite television shows. The steady clack of her knitting needles made it hard to concentrate and, anyway, some of the words made no sense to him. Those people on the screen talked too much. He preferred sports. He could follow those with the mute button on. He clutched the arms of his chair in frustration. Why wouldn’t his brain untangle the jumble of words? Something was still wrong. He had the same trouble with reading. Certain words he recognized would pop out at him, but the others might as well have been Swahili. Even his glasses didn’t help. What would it be like just to be able to sit and read the newspaper? It wasn’t happening. And he wasn’t sure it ever would. “Scares me.”
He hadn’t realized he’d voiced his thoughts aloud until Marie gripped his hand in alarm. “What?”
He nodded in the direction of the set. “Tee, uh, vee.”
“Oh, honey, it’s all right. The bad man won’t kill the heroine.”
He grimaced. She’d misunderstood again. She was treating him like a child who didn’t know the action on the set wasn’t real. The words were what scared him. The words he couldn’t process in his brain.
He tried again. “Words. Can’t understand.”
Marie reached for the remote. “Let me turn up the volume.”
“No!” Why couldn’t she get it? It was like they were on two different planets with two different languages.
She shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t know what you mean.”
Inexplicably, his eyes filled with tears. He’d never been much of a crier. At least not until this blasted stroke. “Want to be better,” he whispered.
“You’re getting better every day, Bud. Look how well you’re getting around.”
Oh, yeah. Using a walker. With luck, someday maybe he’d walk with a cane. But it was the words he missed. He sighed, knowing he’d get himself all worked up if he thought about this too long. He stared uncomprehendingly at the screen for a few more minutes. Finally, he patted her knee and, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, hoisted himself to his feet. “Tired,” he said by way of explanation.
She stood. “Let me help you.”
“No,” he said firmly. “Undress myself. You, watch TV.”
The simple act of preparing for bed now took him nearly half an hour, but he was getting the hang of it. Not too long after he’d stretched out on the bed, Marie slid in beside him, the almond scent of her hand lotion reminding him of so many nights cuddling her. He’d missed that. He reached out with his good arm and drew her close. “Snuggle?”
As her arm came across his chest, she buried her head in the crook of his neck. “Oh, Bud, you mean so much to me. In sickness and health, remember?”
He shut his eyes tightly. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted to be healthy. Gently, he stroked her shoulder. He was lucky. She was still here. It felt so good to have her next to him. He kissed her forehead. “Love you,” he whispered. Then he searched for the other word, the important one. Finally it came. “Always.”
Together. It was good.
His eyes grew heavy. Beside him, Marie snored softly. Sleep. Good. Very good.
MEG HUDDLED IN THE ARMCHAIR in the family room waiting for Scott. She pulled her bathrobe more snugly around her, wishing Buster were still alive to keep her company. She longed to bury her fingers in his soft fur, to watch him stretch on the floor at her feet, to confide in him the feelings she couldn’t express to anyone else.
When the clock chimed ten, she glanced at the copy of Good Housekeeping in her lap. She’d read several true-life stories of women triumphing over obstacles in their lives. Hooray for them. At one time she would’ve described her own life as a success story, too. Even her mother would’ve been proud of her. And her father…if she’d had one. But she didn’t feel that way anymore. Especially not considering the confrontation with Hayley looming ahead.
Both kids were in their rooms doing homework. She’d called Scott to ask that he get home before their bedtime. He was cutting it close. She thumbed through the magazine, wondering what the editorial staff would do with her story. Drudge Loses Sense of Identity? St. Meg of Tulsa? Marriage on Rocks vs. Marriage on Hold?
Finally, she heard the garage door open. When Scott walked into the family room, he’d already shed his sport jacket and was tugging at his tie. “Okay, I’m here. Where’s the fire?”
Meg seethed. No Hello, dear, how are you this evening? “Sit down.” She gestured to his recliner. “We need to deal with Hayley.” She filled him in on Candy’s report. “I don’t know if she’s guilty or not, but if she is, we better get to the root of the situation. And there will have to be consequences.”
Scott groaned. “Like I need another problem today.”
That was his response? Meg wanted to scream, to say, Excuse me for trying to involve you in parenting your daughter. But St. Meg came to the rescue. “You’ve had a bad day?”
He stripped off his tie. “One of our guys missed the estimate on the cost of newspaper supplements. By a lot.”
“I’m sorry.” She waited. She’d extended herself as far as she could. Now it was his turn.
“Yeah, me, too.” He kicked off his shoes. “So? What do you want to do about Hayley?”
“Confront her.” She struggled for calm. “Together.”
“No time like the present.”
They both rose and went upstairs. When Meg knocked on Hayley’s door, she heard a muffled “See ya tomorrow” from within. The cell phone. Gee, maybe she and Scott would have more success communicating with their daughter if they just called her on the phone or, easier yet, text-messaged her. “What?”
Meg nudged the door open. “Your father and I would like to talk with you. Downstairs?”
“Now?” Hayley’s face contorted. “I still have a book report to write for English.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you spent valuable time on the telephone,” Scott said.
“Can’t we talk later?” she whined.
“No.” Meg turned her back and started down the hall. “Now.”
Hayley, dressed in flannel boxers and a gray T-shirt labeled Property of the Football Team, stalked down the stairs followed by Scott, and curled up in the rocker. “So, talk.”
Meg launched in. “We’re more interested in hearing what you have to say about your after-school cheerleading practices.”
“What’s to say? We practice jumps, holds, catches, the usual stuff.”
“Every day?” Scott inquired.
“Well, yeah. I know you guys wanted me to be involved in activities.”
Typical, Meg thought. Turn the argument back against the parents. “You’re sure you’re in the gym every day after school until five?”
Meg detected a flush of pink on her daughter’s cheek. “Where else would I be? I mean, don’t you trust me?”
“Your mother heard someone say you’d been driving around with Zach Simon.”
Hayley flailed her arms. “Someone? Who’s ‘someone’? So you’re going to believe anyone except me, is that it?”
Meg was grateful that Scott remained unflappable. “Answer this simple question, Hayley. Have you been driving around with Zach in violation of our rules?”
“I suppose now I’m grounded.” Hayley shook her head as if she were dealing with a clan meeting of village idiots.
“Only if you did something wrong,” Scott said.
Hayley got to her feet, her eyes spearing each of them. “You are so not trusting.”
Meg knew she had to deliver the coup de grâce. “Where were you after last Friday night’s football game?”
Hayley took a step back, her complexion decidedly more pale. “Jill’s. Like I said.”
“Really?” Scott watched Hayley narrowly. “Then it would be all right for us to call her mother to verify that?”
“You’re treating me like a baby!”
“I’ve been informed you were at a party with Zach after the game.”
Hayley beat her fists against her thighs in frustration. “That brat. I’ll kill him!”
“Kill who?” Scott asked.
“That jerk of a brother of mine.”
Scott stood up and marched toward Hayley, stopping directly in front of her. “First of all, you will never call your brother that. Do you understand?”
Hayley held his gaze, her lower lip thrust out.
“Furthermore, you just incriminated yourself. Justin hasn’t said one word to us about what you’ve been doing.”
For the first time, Hayley’s expression wilted and she glanced helplessly from one of them to the other. “He hasn’t?”
“No,” Meg said. “One of the women at the country club told me today.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters, young lady, is what we’re going to do about it.”
“Until further notice, you are grounded.” Scott eyed her quietly. “You asked earlier if we trusted you—the funny thing is, we did. But now that you’ve abused that trust, you’ve left us with no choice.”
“What about cheerleading practice?”
“I guess you’ll have to bring a note from the sponsor each time you’re there.”
“I’ll die! That’s so embarrassing. You’re both so old-fashioned.”
Meg supported Scott. “A note will work well. As for us being so ‘old-fashioned,’ you brought this on yourself. Decisions have consequences. Your decisions resulted in this grounding.”
Scott went to stand beside Meg. “Since you’ll be spending much more time here at the house, I’m going to expect you to do something else. Help your mother and grandmother with Grampa’s therapy.”
“What?” Her jaw dropped. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” Scott asked.
“I love Grampa and want him to get better, but he’s like a baby. It’s gross.”
Meg expected the top to blow off Scott’s head. Instead, his voice grew steely. “May you never get sick. You have a lot to learn about compassion. Fortunately you will now have the time and the opportunity to start.” He put his arm around Meg. “Your mother will show you what to do tomorrow. And, Hayley? Until further notice, you are not to see this boy.” He paused for effect. “That is not negotiable.”
“I hate you!” Hayley screamed as she took off for her room, leaving behind a gust of tension.
Scott started after her, but Meg stopped him. “Let her go. She needed to get in the last word because she knows we’re right.”
Scott sighed. “I hope so. That was not my idea of fun.”
“Welcome to my world,” Meg said softly, but for once without a single trace of bitterness.
Tentatively, he laid a warm palm against her cheek. “I had no idea things were that difficult with her.”
“Until today, I just thought she was being a typical mouthy teenager.” She smiled ruefully. “I never thought I’d have a reason to thank Candy Stimson for anything.” The feel of his hand against her skin was like a tonic. She wanted so badly to throw herself into his arms and burrow away from all her troubles. “Thanks for helping me deal with this.”
He gazed at her with a look that at one time would have melted her. “It’s my job. One I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting lately.”
Memories of times he had been neglectful rushed to the surface, but, for once, she didn’t want to react defensively. Instead, she savored his support.
The silence between them lengthened. Finally he spoke. “I think I’ll peek in on Mom and Pops.”
For some reason she didn’t want him to leave. “May I come, too?”
He smiled, then nodded. “I’d like that.” He circled her waist and together they walked to the door of their old bedroom. Two nightlights burned brightly enough for them to make out the bed.
Meg’s breath caught in her chest. Bud slept slightly turned toward Marie. His good arm enfolded her and her head rested on his chest, one hand curled over his weakened right arm. Even in his sleep, a gentle smile played across Bud’s face. Meg had once seen a sculpture called The Embrace. But it paled in comparison to the touching scene before them.
Scott’s arm tightened around her. “Meggie, they look so…” his voice faltered “…so…”
“Happy. I know.”
And then her big, strong, capable husband clutched her to his chest and began to sob.