ANDY STARED at his father, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Pam and I were married Saturday.”
“Well, ex-cuze me, but isn’t this kinda sudden?” Jeez, that was only—what?—three days ago. You’d think somewhere along the line his old man could’ve given him a clue, for cripe’s sake.
His dad pushed his hands through his hair, like he always did when he was frustrated. “I know it seems that way, but—”
“If you’re married, how come she isn’t here?” He might not be a certified adult, but he knew newlyweds slept together. “Does Mom know?”
“Hey, son, one question at a time. Pam will come over later with the first load of her stuff. We thought it would be better for you to get settled before she moved in. Kinda get used to the idea.”
Get used to the idea? It was bad enough he had to stay in Fort Worth with his dad for a whole year, but now he had to live with honeymooners, one of whom was his friggin’ English teacher! Ol’ Mafia Harry was looking better by the second.
“Son?”
Andy shook his head, trying to clear his brain. “Tonight? She’s coming tonight?” His father was staring at him, a tight-ass expression on his face. “Oh, yeah,” he nodded wisely, “I guess the sooner the better, huh, stud?”
“Andy, please. That’s no way to talk.”
“No way to talk? How’d you like to be me? I hafta go live with my old man that I hardly ever see and after I get there, he throws in a small detail he’s forgotten to mention. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m married.’ Whaddya expect me to do? Turn handsprings?”
“I know it’s a shock, but you like Pam, don’t you?”
“It’s not about ‘Pam.’ Oh, hell, that’s great! Am I supposed to call my teacher ‘Pam’ or call my stepmother ‘Ms. Carver’? And, anyway, what does it matter if I like her? It’s not as if I have a choice.”
“Can you help me out here? At least try to make her welcome?”
Andy crossed his arms and stared icily over his father’s head.
There went his dad’s hand through the hair again. “Let me try to explain this better.” He sucked in a big breath like he was about to shoot a game-winning free throw. “Pam and I have been friends and colleagues for several years. This summer we, er, we were both in Austin for summer programs, and, well, we suddenly saw each other differently.”
Oh, brother. He could go a long time without hearing the details of his dad’s hot romance.
“When we got back here,” his father’s voice droned on, “it didn’t seem practical to wait to get married.”
Then it hit him. Of course, it didn’t. “Especially when you needed a housekeeper for me, right?”
If Andy had slapped him, his father couldn’t have looked more stricken.
“Jeez, Andy—”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. It was kind of a cheap shot. “But, Dad, this is nuts!”
“I suppose it seems that way now. But Pam is a wonderful woman, and she’s really looking forward to getting better acquainted with you. Please, give her, give us, a chance. That’s all I ask.”
All? He felt dizzy, as if he’d stumbled into a crazy movie of his life, sorta like Pleasantville or The Truman Show. “What about Mom?”
“I plan to call her tomorrow.”
She would freak out. Would she make him go to Dubai or, worse yet, to that snobby prep school she’d talked about? Andy stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the kitchen chair. “I’m goin’ up to my room.”
His dad got to his feet. At first Andy thought he was going to lay a fatherly hand on his shoulder, but instead, he kind of shrugged helplessly. Like he didn’t know what to do. “Will you come say ‘hello’ to Pam when she arrives?”
Andy shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”
“Let me rephrase that.” His father squared his shoulders and fixed him with that schoolteacher glare of his. “I expect you to come greet Pam. I’ll let you know when she gets here.”
“Fine.” Andy edged toward the hall, desperate to get away. “Fine, you do that.”
He took the stairs two at a time, stomped into his room, threw himself on his bed and covered his ears with headphones. The driving beat of the heavy metal band matched the angry throbbing of his heart. He’d thought his life couldn’t get much worse. Well, he’d thought wrong. He was screwed. Totally.
PAM SHOULDERED her overnight bag and started up the walk toward her new home. Pausing on the deep front porch, she wondered for the umpteenth time whether she was doing the right thing. But it was way too late for second thoughts.
Just as she rang the bell, the door swung open, and there stood Grant, his thin smile betraying the same awkwardness that was rendering her speechless. “Welcome,” he said, taking the bag and holding the door for her. After depositing her bag in the bedroom, he joined her in the living room. They stood staring at each other, as if waiting for a prompter to throw them their lines.
“Do you suppose this is the first day of the rest of our lives?” she finally managed to say.
“Maybe. Feels weird, doesn’t it?”
“Very.” She sat primly on the sofa, watching him as he retrieved an envelope from the top of the bookcase.
“Here.” He laid the envelope in her lap. “These are the keys to the house and my car.”
“Thanks.” She glanced around. “Where’s Andy?”
“In his room.”
Grant didn’t need to say anything. She knew. “It didn’t go well, huh?”
He shook his head. “I’d hoped for a more positive response, but he’s pretty hostile.”
“You can’t expect him to be thrilled. He thought he’d have you all to himself. I’m an intruder.”
“No, I don’t think it’s that. I—” his voice cracked “—I don’t think he likes me.”
Pam had never seen Grant vulnerable. “Nonsense. We’ve upset his expectations, that’s all.” She willed him to understand. “Give him time, Grant. Love you can easily give, but patience may come harder.”
“How’d you get so wise?”
She chuckled mirthlessly. “It’s a whole lot easier when you’re the observer, not the parent.”
He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Uh, there’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“He thinks we’re like honeymooners. You know…” A faint flush highlighted his cheeks.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Hands on, you mean?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can you fake it?”
“We’ll have to. At least sometimes.”
“Play the part, Olivier. Just play the part.” If only it were that easy. A drama had three acts, five at the most. This was reality theater, 24/7.
Grant shrugged. “I’ll get Andy. We need to put this first family meeting behind us.”
Pam stood, laid her hands on Grant’s shoulders and tried an encouraging smile. “Curtain’s going up, Gilbert.” Then she gave him a stage-wifely peck on the cheek.
ANDY CRANKED DOWN the volume when the doorbell chimed. She was here. He could hear the low murmur of voices, soon followed by the ominous sound of his father’s footsteps on the stairs. He still couldn’t figure it. His dad, married. He guessed he didn’t have anything against Ms. Carver, but the whole thing was weird. His dad was a cautious guy. Going off and getting married—it just didn’t sound like him.
His father tapped on the door, then opened it a crack. “Son? Pam’s here. C’mon downstairs and join us.”
“Cool your jets, okay? I’ll be there.” He took his sweet time turning off the CD player, straightening his rumpled bedspread, even lacing up his Nikes.
Downstairs his dad was sitting next to Ms. Carver on the sofa. She looked different, younger, than she had at school, what with her hair up in a ponytail and wearing jeans and all. “Hi,” Andy said, standing awkwardly in the doorway, feeling like a jackass.
Ms. Carver had this big smile on her face. That’s one of the things he’d liked about her in class. Her smile. “Andy, I’m so glad to see you again. I know these are much different circumstances, but I’m happy about them. I hope in time you will be, too.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I should say congratulations or something.” He noticed his dad’s arm snake around his teacher’s shoulders.
“Thank you.” She gestured toward the ugly recliner. “Come sit down, so we can get better acquainted.”
Uh-oh. The inquisition. “I’ve got a lotta homework, Ms. Carver.” He sat tentatively.
“Just for a little while. And please call me Pam, at least at home.”
“I hope I don’t goof up.”
“It won’t be the end of the world if you do.”
His father just sat there, letting Ms. Carver—Pam—talk, which she did. “I noticed today that you’re a Stephen King fan. Do you have a favorite?”
“I like them all, but my favorite is Salem’s Lot.”
“Have you read the Poe I assigned?”
He felt a slow burn splotching his face. He hadn’t done any homework. And he didn’t have any plans to. “Not yet.”
“If you like King, I predict you’ll like Poe. He’s the father of the mystery story.”
Andy was mildly interested, but darned if he’d let her or his father know it. Maybe later he’d take a peek at his English book.
“One of his eeriest is ‘The Black Cat.’ Speaking of which—” she grinned at his dad “—the cats are still in the car. Will you help me get them, Andy?”
“What cats?”
“Viola and Sebastian. My kitties. You’ll love them.”
He got up to follow her. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve never had any pets. Unless you count goldfish. Which I don’t.”
“Well, then, you have a treat in store.”
He helped her lug a big cage inside. When she unlatched the door, a black-and-white fur ball dashed under the sofa, while a silky gray cat with huge green eyes hunkered inside the cage, eyeing him curiously.
“C’mon out, Viola,” Ms. Carver urged. Finally the cat crept forward, sniffing the air in a finicky way. “Meet Andy,” Pam said, scooping up the cat and gently placing it in his arms. It lay there, all soft and furry. Then he felt the rumble against his chest. The cat was purring. For a moment he felt peaceful. Hey, no way. The woman wasn’t going to win him over with a stupid cat. “Here,” he said, handing the creature back.
His dad had sidled away from the cage, obviously content to let them deal with the animals.
“Grant, why don’t you fix us all some sodas? Maybe some chips. I imagine Andy could eat something.” She winked at him.
He realized he was kinda hungry. After his dad left the room, Pam sat down again, still cradling the cat. She motioned him to join her on the sofa. “Viola is a very particular cat. You should feel honored. She likes you.” Before he could think of an answer, he was startled to discover the cat creeping toward him, then kneading his thigh with her forepaws. “Now, Sebastian, he takes to everybody. But he doesn’t like new places.” She laughed. “He may not come out from under the sofa for days.”
He couldn’t freakin’ believe it. He was sitting here involved in a conversation about her pets. He didn’t even like cats. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to change homes.” Crap. He hadn’t meant it to come out like that. He sounded like a big crybaby.
“I imagine it is.” She hesitated. “Especially when you arrive to find a complete stranger married to your father.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Damn right?
She reached over and ran a hand down Viola’s back. “But I’m hoping you and I can be friends and that you won’t be too hard on your dad. I think he’s been lonely for a long time.”
Her voice sounded sad. Come to think of it, he hadn’t ever considered that. About Dad being lonely. It always seemed like he didn’t need much of anybody, except for his team and stuff.
“We’ll all just have to work it out. How to become a family. As for school, I know it will be awkward at first to have me for a teacher, but I checked your schedule. There’s no way for you to take driver’s education without having English sixth period. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’ll be okay, I guess.”
“I’ll work hard not to show favoritism, and I hope you won’t let our relationship interfere with your learning.”
“The other kids’ll prob’ly call me teacher’s pet.”
She chuckled. “We’ll have to be sure that doesn’t happen.”
She had a nice laugh, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad having her around. But of course she was sucking up now. She needed her stepson to like her.
“Here we go.” With a bag of chips clutched under his arm, Dad juggled three glasses of soda. While they drank, they worked out when they’d bring over Pam’s boxes and furniture. Dad seemed kinda nervous about her plans for sprucing up the house, but Andy thought they sounded okay. Dad was a tan-and-gray kinda guy, but Pam was red, orange and yellow. After he’d scarfed down the last of the chips, he excused himself. Maybe he’d actually read “The Tell-Tale Heart.”
Later he sprawled on his stomach across his bed, the lit book propped on the pillow. This was good stuff. He could almost hear the beating heart. Whoa. He could hear it. Then he realized it was Viola. Purring. While he’d been absorbed in the short story, she’d nudged his door open and now snuggled beside him on his bed.
Cool.
GRANT HELPED PAM bring in the rest of her stuff, including litter boxes, one of which she placed beside the tub in the downstairs bath they would share. And he’d thought wet panty hose would be the most offensive addition to his bachelor quarters! He’d made room in his closet for her hanging things. Now, though, he could see he’d probably have to move his wardrobe to the upstairs spare bedroom, at least if he had any hope of leaving any space between garments. It had been a startlingly swift and complete invasion of his space—her robe hung from a hook beside the shower, the kitty nest was wedged between the bureau and the wall, assorted colognes were aligned on the dresser top and shoe boxes too numerous to contemplate were stacked on the floor. On the bedside table, as if it had always been there was a dated photograph of a smiling young couple, her parents he presumed.
He could hear Pam in the bathroom, rearranging the medicine cabinet to make room for her cosmetics and medications. He flopped on the bed, hands cradling his head. In retrospect how simple it would’ve been to ensconce a housekeeper in the guest room, close his bedroom door at night and relax in his masculine sanctuary. Now he was practically going to have to make an appointment to step into his own shower.
Then there was Andy. Not only understandably upset and confused, but also on the lookout for evidence that he and Pam were behaving like a horny teenager’s version of newlyweds. He rolled over on his side, sat up and grabbed the bedside phone. No point postponing the inevitable. He punched in Shelley’s phone number, steeling himself for her reaction.
Which was every bit as histrionic and patronizing as he had anticipated. Ten minutes later, after hearing how disappointed Shelley was that now Andy wouldn’t receive all of his father’s attention and being berated for putting his new wife’s needs ahead of his son’s, he managed to beg off and call Andy to the upstairs extension. That conversation had been pure Shelley! The very accusations she’d tossed at him were what she’d been guilty of for years. With her, men came first. Andy, second.
He sat, head down, hands dangling between his legs, the weight of the day’s events cowing him. A few minutes after he heard the shower shut off, he mustered the energy to rise and knock on the bathroom door. “Pam? Are you about finished in there?”
When she opened the door, a misty cloud of steam hit him in the face, along with a smell like June roses. His vision cleared, and he gawked. Standing before him in a fluffy peach-colored terry-cloth robe was Pam, her head wrapped in a towel, her smooth, clean skin flushed from the heat, her tawny eyes fringed with long lashes. “I’m done. Do you need in?”
He gulped. “In a while. I thought maybe we ought to settle a few things before we turn in.”
“Like?”
“Our morning routine, for starters.”
She edged past him toward the bedroom, where she sat at the foot of the bed toweling her hair dry. “As you can see, I’m an evening shower person. I’ll need about fifteen minutes in the bathroom in the morning.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. When she raised her arms to massage her scalp, the robe gaped, revealing a sheer nightie it would be folly to think about. Tendrils of hair trailed down the nape of her neck, and he wanted nothing more than to throw off the towel and plunge his hands into her hair and…
“What about you?”
Me? “What about me?”
“The bathroom,” she prompted.
“Oh, yeah. I get up at six. I’ll be cleared out of there by six-thirty.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets to have something to do with them.
“You know I’ve been thinking,” she went on. “If we’re to pull this off, we need to know a little more about each other. Our histories, likes, dislikes, that kind of thing.”
It made sense. “We haven’t had much time to consider stuff like that, have we? But what about Andy? He’ll suspect, if we talk around here.”
“I was thinking maybe we could slip off campus for our lunches this week.”
Now her hair fell to her shoulders and she worked on drying the ends. Without makeup, she looked younger. Something about the intimacy of her sitting on his bed in her nightwear tangled his tongue. “Sounds good. Tomorrow then?”
She nodded. “Also we have to think about how to make the announcement of our marriage.” She lowered her hands and spanned them across her abdomen. “The sooner the better,” she whispered.
That made sense. You didn’t have to teach in the math department to compute nine months. “What about the all-school assembly day after tomorrow?”
“That would certainly kill all the birds with one stone.” She looked up, her eyes holding a spark of humor. “Or we could just tell Geraldine Farley.”
He grinned. Mrs. Farley, one of the school patrons, was notorious as Keystone’s number one gossipmonger. “The assembly’s far safer. Besides, we wouldn’t want Andy to think our marriage is a secret. I’ll tell him in the morning that we’re making the announcement Thursday.”
Pam stood, her bare feet unaccountably arousing. Grant resisted the urge to let his gaze lift to her bare knees. “Tonight went better than I expected,” she said. “With Andy.”
“I wish I could say the same for my conversation with his mother. No telling what poison she fed him when they talked.”
Pam moved closer, the heady fragrance of rosebuds disarming him. She laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
“I’ll try not to.” He stepped around her to turn down the bedspread. Then he hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want this bed?”
“I’m sure. See you in the morning.” At the door, she paused and turned back to him. “Thanks, Grant. For everything.”
Later, lying in bed, he longed for the oblivion of sleep. It had been an exhausting day—school starting, telling Andy, moving Pam, calling Shelley. Heck, Pam was right. He didn’t need to borrow trouble. He already had plenty.
The ex-wife from hell.
A son who barely tolerated him.
And a pregnant wife-for-a-year. One who aroused in him emotions long dormant and potentially dangerous.
“HEY, GILBERT, wait up.” A string bean of a kid with a blond buzz cut and hands the size of fielders’ mitts grabbed a notebook out of his locker, slammed it shut and loped after Andy. “Aren’t you Coach G.’s son?”
This guy was only about the thirtieth jerk who’d asked him that same question. As if he didn’t have an identity of his own. “Yeah, I’m Andy.”
“Hey, welcome to Keystone. I’m Chip Kennedy. Are you a sophomore?”
Andy grunted assent, wishing the creep would leave him alone.
“So am I. I’m hoping to start this season. I’m a forward. How about you?”
“I don’t play basketball,” Andy said, frowning.
“No kidding? You look like you’d be a natural. What are you? Six-one?”
“Six-two.”
“How come you don’t play?”
Chip was a regular Regis Philbin with the questions. What answer would he buy? “I’ve been living with my mother. She’s not into basketball.” That was an under-statement. Last year she’d made it to only one of his games and had been more interested in flirting with their center’s divorced father than in watching him score nineteen points.
“Maybe you could come out for the team here. Give it a try.”
“No.” Andy didn’t even bother to be polite. Chip was bugging him. Gratefully, Andy realized he was at the door of his English class. “Gotta go.”
“Good to meetcha. See ya tomorrow.” Chip moved on down the hall and Andy slipped into his seat at the back of the class. He opened his textbook at random and pretended to study a chart called “Elements of the Short Story.” It was getting harder and harder to be anonymous around here, and after tomorrow’s assembly, there’d be no hiding, especially in this class where all the kids would figure he was getting special attention from the teacher.
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.
“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.