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After Dylan left, Gwen cut out the section of the shopping bag on which he had printed his number, using the scissors she kept behind the counter. She tossed the rest of the bag into the trash and tucked his number into her pocket. She wasn’t sure she was ready to enter it in her phone.
She would have to eventually, of course. Whether or not he walked away this time, he knew about Annie now, and Gwen might have to contact him—for child support, or to ask about his medical history, or something.
As if the only subject she’d ever want to contact him about was Annie.
She’d made a plan with Mike to meet for dinner tonight. He’d phoned her that morning, apologized for their telephone spat yesterday, and asked her to find a sitter. He had suggested that she come to his house for dinner, but that seemed risky to her. She wasn’t sure yet what she was going to say to him, but whatever it was, she’d rather say it in a public place. And if she went to his apartment, he might expect her to jump into bed with him. They hadn’t made love in days. She wished she’d missed having sex with him, but she didn’t.
As anxious as she felt about what was going on in her life, and as contrite as she felt about the impact it would have on Mike, she wasn’t going to go to bed with him just to smooth things out between them, to make him feel better or atone for the sins she felt accumulating in her soul. She had plenty to atone for: Not having told him who Annie’s father was right from the start. Not having told him after he’d met Dylan on her front porch. Not making love with him. Not minding that they hadn’t made love.
Kissing Dylan. Thinking about him all night. Thinking about kissing him again. Thinking about what making love with him had been like all those years ago. Missing that. Wishing she could relive that long-ago night, experience that steamy splendor one more time before she settled for Mike.
Realizing that if she married Mike, she would be settling.
At one time, settling had seemed like her most reasonable option. Her daughter needed a father. Gwen wanted stability in her life, and a partner by her side to help her face the inevitable challenges and crises that loomed in her future, and in Annie’s. Mike was a decent guy. He had his faults—who didn’t?—but he’d accepted Gwen. Most men, she’d learned, wanted nothing to do with a woman whose life revolved around a demanding young daughter.
She had no idea what Dylan wanted. She knew, though, that he wasn’t like most men.
She had told Mike she would meet him at the Lobster Shack at six-thirty. They would be able to feast on fresh seafood there, at cheap prices. She would treat. It was the least she could do.
The afternoon passed in a blur. A satisfying number of customers entered the Attic. Most of them bought something. Gwen chatted with every patron, and no one she talked to could have guessed how distracted she was. Schmoozing with customers was one of the things she did well, and one of the main reasons the Attic remained profitable.
At around three, Diana Simms dropped by to deliver the cartons of Squeeze-Pleeze ketchup and mustard bottles. Gwen ushered her to the office in back so she could write up a purchase order and cut a check. As soon as they were shut inside the room, Diana sprang like a hungry leopard on its prey. “Tell me all about Dylan Scott,” she demanded, her eyes bright with curiosity. “How could you not tell me you were friends with Captain Steele?”
“We’re not friends, exactly,” Gwen hedged as she helped Diana stack the cartons atop Annie’s coloring table in one corner of the room. She was glad to have the boxes to focus on. If she looked directly at Diana, Diana would surely be able to read in her face that there was a hell of a lot more going on than friendship, or not-friendship, between Gwen and Dylan. “We knew each other a long time ago.”
“How? Do you have a show-biz history I know nothing about?”
“He was here in Brogan’s Point making a movie. This was years ago, before he was famous. It was a little low-budget film called Sea Glass. Nothing like the Galaxy Force movies.”
“And you got to know him? Gwen!” Diana poked Gwen in the shoulder. “That’s so exciting! Does he invite you to movie premieres? Could you be his date for the Oscars?”
“Oh, please.” Gwen forced a laugh. “When he was here making Sea Glass, the movie’s art director bought some stuff at the Attic, and Dylan came with her. We talked a few times. That’s all.”
“That’s not all. An A-list movie star doesn’t just turn up in your kitchen because you talked to him a few times before he was famous.”
“He was passing through town. We ran into each other. I invited him back for pizza.”
“Well, isn’t that special.” Gwen could hear the sarcasm in her friend’s voice. Reluctantly, she turned to face Diana, who stood near the desk, her hands on her hips and her brow creased in a frown. “Tell me the truth, or you can’t be a bridesmaid,” she threatened. Her wedding to Nick Fiore, who coordinated youth programs at the community center, was just a couple of months away.
Gwen refused to take the threat seriously. She laughed, and Diana joined her. “The truth? Dylan is Annie’s father.”
Diana stopped laughing. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “You’re kidding.”
“No. And please don’t tell anyone.”
“Sworn to secrecy.” Diana traced an X on her chest with her finger, crossing her heart. “You slept with him? Really?”
“Really. One night of craziness. These things happen.”
“Not with gorgeous movie stars.”
“Especially with them,” Gwen said.
Diana conceded with a smile and a nod. “So...he was in your kitchen to visit his daughter?”
“He didn’t even know he had a daughter until just now,” Gwen explained. “When I found out I was pregnant, I tried to reach him, but his manager ran interference and I was never able to get through to him. Now he knows, and he wants to be a part of her life.” She sighed. “It’s messy.”
“Do you want him in her life?”
“Well... He’s her father.” And if he was in Annie’s life, he’d be in Gwen’s life, too. But not in her life the way she wanted a man to be in her life. He was a movie star, after all. He’d be jetting to locations and reported on in gossip magazines and on show-biz websites. He’d be photographed at the Oscars with gorgeous young women, not with Gwen.
She recalled all the reasons she’d considered accepting Mike’s proposal. Dylan promised none of them. No stability. No reliable presence in Annie’s life. No partner to stand by Gwen and help her face whatever life threw at her.
“I’ve got to run,” Diana said, accepting the check and receipt Gwen handed her. “I still have a ton of pieces to inventory from the estate sale. It wasn’t all condiment bottles. The guy liked kitsch, but he also had some remarkable items. His granddaughter gave me some paperwork claiming a sculpture he had was a genuine Henry Moore, but I need to set up an appraisal.” She gave Gwen a quick hug. “If you want to bring Captain Steele to the wedding as your plus-one, let me know before we lock in the catering order.”
Gwen laughed away her offer. The way things were going, Mike might not be her plus-one, either. Maybe she’d bring Annie along as her date.
***
At five o’clock, she left the store in the capable hands of her assistant manager and raced off to pick up Annie at her after-school program. The rain had ebbed into a light, raw mist, and her car’s headlights glared against the wet roadways. She tried to plan what she would say to Mike, but her brain was too muddled. The only thing she could focus on was getting to the after-school program before five-fifteen. If she showed up late, she would get charged a penalty.
She made it to the parking lot with a minute to spare. Annie greeted her with a hug and a monologue about the paper skeleton she and the other students were constructing. “We used oak tag for the bones, and butterfly clips, so their joints move. My bones don’t look so good, but the teacher said they were fine. The skull is really important. I’ll work on that tomorrow. It’s for Halloween,” she added unnecessarily. “We can hang it on the door. When are we going to buy a pumpkin, Mommy? Can we make a jackie-lantern?”
“Maybe we’ll go to the farm stand this weekend,” Gwen offered.
“Can I pick my own pumpkin? I want a really big one.”
“It has to be small enough for you to carry,” Gwen warned her. Left to her own devices, Annie would choose a pumpkin twice her own size.
“Can I cut the jackie-lantern?”
“No. You can draw the face, and I’ll do the cutting.”
“I’m big enough. I won’t cut myself.”
“I’ll do the cutting,” Gwen repeated in a firm tone. She knew Annie would pester her again in a couple of days about carving her own jack-o-lantern—and maybe in a couple of days, Gwen would have the strength to explain to her once more why she was too young to hack through the pumpkin’s tough exterior with a sharp knife. But now, she just wanted the debate to end.
“What are we having for dinner?”
“I’m meeting Mike for dinner tonight,” Gwen told Annie. “I’m sorry, but we need to discuss some grown-up things. Hayley from down the street is going to babysit for you.”
“I like Hayley,” Annie said. “She’s so pretty. And she lets me have ice-cream.”
Gwen wasn’t going to lecture Annie—or, for that matter, Hayley—on nutrition. If the kid wanted ice-cream tonight, she could have ice-cream.
She made quick work of cleaning out Annie’s lunch box and cooking a turkey burger and steamed carrots for her. Hayley showed up at a quarter past six, and Gwen bolted for the Lobster Shack, still dressed in the sweater set and slacks she’d worn all day at work. As she settled into the driver’s seat, she felt something crinkling in her pocket. She slid her hand in and felt the scrap of paper with Dylan’s phone number on it.
She still had no idea just what she would say to Mike. All she knew, as dread tightened its hold on her, was that it wouldn’t go well.
She arrived at the wharf-side restaurant before he did. In addition to its tasty food and low prices, the Lobster Shack was blessed with having not one scintilla of romantic atmosphere. The walls were rough-hewn plank paneling, the tables were topped with paper placemats, and the only nautical decoration was a clock shaped like a ship’s steering wheel hanging on one wall. Less than a minute after Gwen told the hostess she was waiting for her companion, Mike walked in.
He looked good. He always did. He was a handsome guy, with a broad, square face and reddish-brown hair that was beginning to thin, although still plentiful enough that his comb-over camouflaged the thin spots. He had taken the time to change into a flannel shirt and jeans, not what he wore when he was selling Hondas at Wright Honda-BMW. But then, he hadn’t had to pick up a daughter and feed her dinner before coming to the Lobster Shack.
The waitress seated them. Mike ordered fish and chips and a beer, Gwen a lobster roll and water. No wine. She needed her wits about her. Besides, the wines at the Lobster Shack were pretty bad: generic red, generic white, generic rose, which she suspected might just be equal parts of the red and white mixed together.
While they waited for their food, Mike shared with her a convoluted anecdote having to do with floor mats and cup holders in a car he’d recently sold. Gwen did her best to nod and look interested. She tried to guess whether Mike’s decision to avoid mentioning their argument yesterday was a good or a bad thing.
Finally their meals arrived. Gwen gazed down at the submarine roll sliced lengthwise and overflowing with shiny red and white chunks of lobster meat. The Lobster Shack made the best lobster rolls south of Maine, but she had no appetite.
“I have to tell you something, Mike,” she said, picking at the lobster meat with her fork.
He shrugged and took a hefty swig of beer. “I’m all ears.”
“Dylan Scott? The actor you saw at my house Saturday?”
Mike nodded.
“He’s Annie’s father. She doesn’t know that yet, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her. I’ll tell her when I think the time is right. But it has to be done properly.”
“He’s her father?” Mike bellowed.
“Shh.”
Mike scanned the room, but none of the other diners seemed particularly aware of his outburst. “He’s her father?” he said more quietly. “Her effing father?”
“Yes.”
Mike chewed on a French fry, and simultaneously ruminated on this news. “Some hell of a father he is. Where has he been all of Annie’s life?”
“He didn’t know about her. There was...a communications breakdown.”
“Oh. A communications breakdown.” Mike’s gaze narrowed on Gwen, but he didn’t stop eating. “So, how did that happen? How did you wind up having a kid with a movie star? You were—what? Some groupie or something? Do movie stars have groupies? I thought that was just rock stars.”
“I wasn’t a groupie. It was...” She sighed. She honestly didn’t want to explain to Mike her history with Dylan. It had been hard enough explaining it to Diana, and Diana was her friend. And a woman. Mike was a guy. “He wasn’t a movie star when we...”
“When you screwed. When you made a baby. She’s, what, six years old? He wasn’t a movie star then?”
“She’s five. I knew him six years ago. And no, he wasn’t a movie star then. He was a struggling actor.”
Mike ate for a while in silence, his jaw moving slowly, his eyes narrowed on her. How could she possibly eat when he was staring at her that way, so full of anger and resentment?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was a shock to me, too, his showing up in town unexpectedly. And he saw Annie, and...” She detected no softening in Mike’s expression. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
He crumpled his napkin into a ball, slugged down the rest of his beer, and stood. “I have to think,” he muttered. “This is too much.” With that, he stalked out of the restaurant.
Gwen had planned to pay for their meal, but Mike’s abrupt departure, before she could even make the offer, irked her. She gazed at her lobster roll for a long, helpless minute, then signaled the waitress and asked her to wrap it to go. Once she’d settled the bill, she left the Lobster Shack.
The air was cool and damp, heavy with the salty scent of the ocean. The wharf’s planks were damp, too, and slightly slippery. She picked way carefully to the asphalt of the parking lot, climbed into her car, and tossed her sandwich onto the passenger seat. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out the paper with Dylan’s phone number on it.
