Читать книгу Second Honeymoon - Laura Abbot - Страница 8

“DO YOU THINK Meg and Scott will be surprised?”

Bud Harper took his eyes off the road momentarily to glance at his wife, who was dwarfed by the leather passenger seat of their new motor home. “They will be if our grandkids have kept their mouths shut.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’d spoil it for anything. I’m so excited.” Marie practically squirmed with satisfaction. “Twenty years. Why, it seems like only yesterday that Scotty brought Meg home to meet us.”

“Remember how you thought no one would ever be good enough for your baby?”

“Scott was—and is—pretty special. But so is Meg. Even if she did take some getting used to.”

Bud let the remark pass. Over the years, the arrival of grandchildren—and geographic distance—had mellowed the relationship between the two women. “Scott works too hard,” he said, remembering their last visit to Tulsa, when his son had been frantically trying to meet a client’s unrealistic deadline.

Marie raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, I wonder where he learned that work ethic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Bud admitted, recalling the strains in their marriage when he’d been putting in eighteen-hour days to get his plumbing business up and running. “But look here.” He waved his arm expansively to indicate the interior of their rig and the open road before them. “If you wait long enough, there are compensations.”

“There always were,” his wife said, smiling fondly.

“Even as busy as I was, we had some good times. Maybe I’m an old fogy, but back then, families didn’t have the added frustration of learning how to operate all these doodads. Computers, Palm Pilots, cell phones, DVD players—it’s enough to boggle the mind.” Simply figuring out all the intricacies of the motor home had been enough to tax his ingenuity and patience.

But now there were months of camping by rushing mountain streams to look forward to. No schedules. No obligations. Time for the two of them at last. He and Marie had dreamed of this trip for years. She had boxes filled with articles and photos she’d clipped from travel magazines. Lulled by the hum of the powerful engine, he mentally ticked off some of their destinations: Yellowstone Park, Bryce and Zion canyons, Crater Lake, Vancouver Island. And that was only the first leg of the journey.

Hearing the comforting click of Marie’s knitting needles, he thought back to the first time he’d ever seen her at his marine buddy’s wedding. A little bit of a thing in a picture hat and flouncy bridesmaid gown. Summer of 1957. He’d taken one look and made an instant decision. Sidling up to the groom, he’d asked Marie’s name and then announced, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry.” And, by God, he had. From that day on, he’d never had a single regret.

They’d spent last night in Memphis and done the Graceland tour. He wasn’t a big fan of the King, but he’d never let on. Marie still listened to Elvis CDs, and he had to admit the songs restored an era for him.

West of Little Rock, Highway 40 ran in gentle ups and downs along the Arkansas River. Soon they’d roll into Oklahoma and catch the turnpike to Tulsa.

“Only two more days. I hope our little surprise works out,” Marie said. “It’s hard planning things long distance.”

He patted her knee. “Everything will be fine. I’ve never known anything you organized to bomb.”

She blushed. A seventy-two-year-old woman, still capable of enjoying a compliment and still as beautiful, wrinkles and all, as the first day he’d laid eyes on her.

He was a lucky man.

THURSDAY AFTERNOON Justin got off the school bus, flipped the bird at Sam Grider, then glared at the departing vehicle, choking on the noxious exhaust fumes. He’d had it with that guy’s bullying. Sam had ragged on him unmercifully for his stupid oral book report in English. “Whatsa matter, Harper? Can’t ya read? That’s not how the story ends, dork.”

Whether Mrs. Kelly, his English teacher, knew that or not, she sure did when Grider got finished. Even now, remembering the snickers and stares of his classmates, Justin reddened. Crap. He hated Grider, he hated books, he hated school. Actually, he hated his whole lousy life.

Which was about to get worse. Thrusting his hand in his pocket, he fingered the note that would probably get him grounded for a month. Mrs. Kelly had kept him after class, her steely gray eyes boring into him. “Justin, I’m extremely disappointed in you.” Then she’d written the note informing his parents that not only had he not finished the book, he’d “prevaricated”—Jeez, who talked like that in real life?—a form of cheating she found a “serious breach of morality.”

In other words, he’d screwed up royally.

He wondered briefly what would happen if he threw the note away. But Mrs. Kelly had asked him to have his parents sign it and return it to her. Ha! If he lived long enough after his father got through with him.

The only thing that might save his bacon was that his grandparents were coming that afternoon. Maybe his dad wouldn’t make a big stink in front of them. Or maybe his grandfather would remember some ancient story about a time when the perfect Scott Harper had actually messed up. Fat chance!

Out of the blue, an idea came to him. Tomorrow was Friday. He could tell Mrs. Kelly his parents hadn’t been home to sign the note, that he’d have it for her Monday. Lots of things could happen between now and then. Especially if his parents were pleased with the surprise.

He scuffed his toe against the curb, then started slowly for home. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be pleased. Not when they barely even talked to each other. Mom was always rolling her eyes at Dad when he was late getting home from work, and he kept telling her how important every darn business deal was. They acted like they didn’t even love each other, and it was enough to make Justin puke.

With a jolt, the familiar sick feeling punched him in the gut. He closed his eyes, holding back tears—and fear.

What if they didn’t love each other?

He crossed his fingers. The surprise just had to work.

MEG HAULED THE LAST BAG out of the grocery cart and stuffed it into the back seat of her Lexus. She glanced at her watch and swore. The Harpers would be arriving any time within the next hour and she still had to pick up Hayley at cheerleading practice, unload the groceries, marinate the steak, toss the salad and set the table. No doubt Marie, in her day, would’ve finished most of her chores by noon. Easing from the parking lot into the flow of traffic, Meg grimaced. Her mother-in-law was a wonderful person, but she was a hard act to follow and always made her feel like a Martha Stewart dropout.

Halfway to the high school, her cell phone rang. One hand on the wheel, she groped around in her purse, finally coming up with it. The caller was Jannie reminding her of their scheduled Saturday tennis game. “I’m sorry, but Scott’s parents will be here. I should’ve let you know.”

“No problem. I’ll find another game. Enjoy the in-laws.”

“I’ll try.” Meg steeled herself, wondering how on earth she could hide the state of her marriage from Scott’s parents. “They’re really nice people.”

“Right. That must explain why you get so uptight every time they come to Tulsa.”

Meg raced through an intersection on the yellow light. “I like them. But…they dote on Scott. He can do no wrong.” She could hardly restrain her sarcasm—or her sense of inadequacy.

“Ah, the golden-boy syndrome,” Jannie said knowingly.

“That about sums it up.”

“And you feel…what? Snubbed? Like you don’t measure up?”

Waves of insecurity swept over Meg, dating back to the first time she’d met the Harpers and realized no one would ever be good enough for Scott, at least in his mother’s mind. “Something like that.”

“Join the crowd, honey. But what these mamas don’t know is how happy we make their little boys, right?”

Happy? Meg controlled a snort. It was easier just to agree. Saying anything else would open the flood-gates of her emotions. “Oh, yes. What Mrs. Harper doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” The irony of her intentional double meaning brought her up short.

After setting another tennis date, Meg hung up, wondering what had happened to her sense of humor. “Mamas” and “little boys” once would’ve provoked a grin.

When she turned into the circular drive in front of the high-school gymnasium, she spotted Hayley and three other girls sitting on the concrete wall, their tanned legs swinging, talking to two young men wearing low-slung jeans and baggy shirts. Hayley hadn’t dated much, to Meg’s relief, but there was something in her expression, the high color in her cheeks, that made Meg suspect her daughter had more than a passing interest in one of these boys. Meg sighed. She wasn’t ready for the angst of teenage love. Especially with a kid who looked like a wannabe rap star.

Recognizing the car, Hayley hopped off the wall, waved at her friends and climbed in the front seat. “Who were those boys?” Meg asked as she pulled out from the school.

“Oh, just Zach Simon and some other guy in my biology class.”

“They looked like they were into you. What’s up?”

Hayley shrugged her shoulders. “There’s nothing to tell—”

Meg bought it until Hayley added, “Really.”

Acknowledging that her daughter probably wouldn’t welcome further inquiries, Meg dropped it. She glanced at the dash and realized she was speeding.

After several minutes of silence, Hayley turned to her. “When do Gramma and Grampa get here? I can’t wait to see them.”

“Not for about an hour.” Meg prayed that was true. She had too much to do in the meantime.

“Will Dad be home for dinner?”

Was Scott’s presence at the evening meal so rare that Hayley had to ask? “I certainly hope so. After all, your grandparents would be disappointed if he wasn’t.”

Meg thought she heard a catch in her daughter’s voice. “So would I.” Hayley’s mask of nonchalance slipped. In its place was—yearning?

Good Lord. How would Hayley react when she and Scott separated and she only saw her father on prearranged visits? If Scott took his role as a parent seriously.

Even as she formed that thought, she admitted it was unfair. Scott loved the kids. She’d never doubted that. But he loved his ad agency, too. And it was hard to compete with Harper Concepts. Especially when you were only fifteen.

“He’ll be there,” Meg said in a firm voice, as if emphasizing it would make it true. Hayley picked at the strap of her backpack but said nothing.

The sun was low in the sky when Meg turned onto their tree-lined street.

“What’s that thing?” Hayley asked, her tone of disgust unmistakable.

Meg followed Hayley’s gaze. There, parked in front of their third garage and taking up most of the length of their driveway, was a huge brown-and-beige motor home. Why, oh why, hadn’t there been a tie-up on the freeway, a rainstorm, anything to slow the Harpers down? No one but Justin had been home to greet them, no cooking aromas wafted from a dinner simmering on the stove, no welcome flag flew from the pole. Once again, Meg had failed the domesticity challenge.

“That’s your grandparents’ new motor home.”

“I didn’t know it would be so big.” Hayley stared incredulously. “It’s gross. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why on earth would you say that?”

“The other kids’ll laugh. Mom, it’s total senior-citizen geekdom!”

Meg stifled a giggle. The motor home did scream AARP. “Get over it. You will be gracious and accepting of your grandparents.”

Hayley gave her a mock salute. “Aye, aye, captain.” Then, to Meg’s surprise, she relented. “I’m sorry. It’s just…so big. But I do love Gramma and Grampa.”

“I know you do, honey.” Meg decided to capitalize on Hayley’s temporary good graces. “I could use your help with dinner.”

“Ask Gramma. She loves to putter in the kitchen.”

In one fell swoop, Hayley had removed herself from consideration and volunteered her grandmother—the very person whose help Meg had hoped to avoid.

But what did she deserve? Her marriage was falling apart, and now she couldn’t even pull off being a gracious hostess. Easing past the behemoth and into the garage, she muttered a silent prayer, then told her daughter, “The least you can do is help carry in the groceries.”

WHERE THE HELL was Scott? Meg’s face was a mask of good cheer, but internally she was boiling. Did she have to entertain by herself? The Harpers were his parents, after all. Somehow she’d managed to light the gas grill, and Bud and Justin were presiding over the steaks. Marie, however, had not left her side during the rest of the food preparation, inserting culinary tips into the conversation like “You’ll want to chill the salad bowls, Meg”—which necessitated rearranging the refrigerator. Hayley had willingly set the table under her grandmother’s direction, but heaven forbid the salad forks went on the inside of the dinner forks.

Meg was within minutes of serving the meal, and still there was no sign of Scott. He hadn’t even bothered to phone. Despite the awkwardness, Meg refused to make excuses for him, but Marie more than made up for that. “Scotty works so hard. I know he’ll be here as soon as he finishes whatever business he has.”

Meg bit her lip. Marie’s very words got at the heart of the problem—Scott would be home when he’d addressed his more important obligations. Only then would he be ready to face priority number two—his family.

The sliding glass door to the patio opened. Beaming, Bud raised a platter toward the women. “Behold. Best darn steaks you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

Justin followed, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “I’m starving. Can we please eat?”

Well, why not? Meg thought to herself. Let the Harpers experience what we do. Dinner without the lord and master. “Call your sister,” Meg said, and instructed Bud to set the meat on the table.

Marie readjusted the parsley around a plate of deviled eggs. Apparently Meg hadn’t even done that satisfactorily. “Surely we’re not going to eat without Scotty.”

Meg clenched her fingers. “He should be here any minute. He wouldn’t want us to let the food get cold.”

“Those steaks are perfect now, sweetheart,” Bud added, by way of support.

Marie stared wistfully out the kitchen window. “It doesn’t seem right not to wait.”

Hayley and Justin took their places at the table. “Come on, Gramma and Grampa,” Justin pleaded. “Let’s eat.”

Reluctantly Marie picked up the plate of eggs. Meg gave one last desperate look down the street before following with the salad and baked potatoes.

Fortunately, the kids kept the conversation going and, to Meg’s relief, displayed obvious pleasure in their grandparents’ visit, asking them numerous questions about the great motor-home odyssey. Hayley, especially, seemed eager to make them feel at home. Meg toyed with her salad, resentment robbing her of an appetite. How could she and Scott maintain this charade of a marriage for even one more day, much less carry off an anniversary? And when would they have the opportunity to make the decisions so vital to their future? Find time to communicate those decisions to their children and the Harpers? First, though, before anything could happen, Scott had to appear.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, she heard the garage door open, followed by the sound of a car pulling in.

“That must be Scotty.” Marie nearly knocked her chair over, bounding up to greet her son. Bud rose, too, but the kids went right on eating.

From her seat, Meg watched Scott embrace his parents, then heard him apologize for being late. “…last-minute changes the creative director needed to go over.” Meg flinched. Brenda Sampson. It figured.

“It’s good to have you here,” Scott said as he accompanied his parents back to the dining room, false heartiness apparent in his conciliatory gestures. “Sorry, honey,” he mumbled, resting a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “Kids, I’m glad you didn’t wait. I’ll bet you were hungry.”

“Starving,” Justin said, helping himself to a second steak.

Hayley pointed to her brother’s plate. “Too much red meat isn’t good for you.”

“At least I’m not a picky eater, like you.”

“Children,” Meg admonished.

Somehow Meg endured the rest of the dinner, watching stoically as Marie and Bud hung on Scott’s every word about the Jordan department-store account.

At one point, Marie leaned over, and, eyes glowing, asked Meg, “Aren’t you proud of your husband?”

Even as Meg reluctantly murmured, “Yes,” she had to admit that in some ways she was proud of his accomplishments. But why did she have to play second fiddle? Why couldn’t she feel as important to him as his new accounts?

Between the main course and dessert, Bud tapped on his wineglass. “I have an announcement to make.”

Hayley and Justin made eye contact as knowing grins formed on their faces. Meg went on alert. Her children were seldom in cahoots.

“Saturday, you two—” he nodded at Scott and Meg “—will celebrate a milestone twenty years of marriage, and if you don’t have anything special planned…”

Meg was overcome with bitterness. Anything special? Just a separation. Is that special enough?

“…Marie, Hayley, Justin and I have arranged to take you to dinner at the country club to celebrate.”

Scott caught Meg’s eye briefly as if to say “Don’t ruin this for them.” Then he said, “Mom, Pops, that’s really not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” Marie interrupted. “We are so proud of this wonderful family you’ve created. You’re both busy, talented people who somehow manage to keep the spark alive. That needs to be celebrated.”

Meg, cheeks flaming, nearly choked as she responded, “That’s very generous of you.”

What she was really thinking was that, unbelievably, she and Scott had his parents fooled. For the moment, anyway.

EXHAUSTED, SCOTT FINISHED brushing his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and made his way to bed where Meg was already sleeping—or pretending to—her back to him, one arm tucked under her pillow. There’d been no opportunity to talk with her, to apologize for being late. Not that he could have convincingly explained what had detained him. She wouldn’t care. Especially if his reason involved Brenda. And it did.

He should’ve been home to greet his parents. He could have called. But cowardly as it was, he hadn’t wanted to hear Meg’s nagging accusations; he was harboring more than enough guilt himself. On the drive home, he’d second-guessed his motives. Could his conversation with Brenda have waited until tomorrow? Not if they wanted to get the logo redesign ready for Monday’s pitch to the Jordans. Brenda had needed an immediate decision. They couldn’t afford to blow this deal—it was the firm’s big chance to nail a high-profile client.

He lay on his back, head cradled on his hands, willing sleep to come. Moonlight striped the far wall. He heard muffled movements above as his parents prepared for bed. He’d been glad to see them—and grateful for their presence, buffering him from Meg’s hostility. Lately it seemed most of his conversations with her centered on his apologizing. For what? Making a living? Seeking success?

Childish though it might be, he had basked in the approval in his mother’s eyes as he told about the possibility of getting the Jordan account. But lying there, he knew it wasn’t her approval he craved.

It was Meg’s.

He turned on his side, studying the curves of his wife’s body, one bared shoulder creamy against the soft green blanket. He raised a hand to trace the indentation of her waist, the rise of her hip, but stopped himself, knowing she would tense under his touch.

He desperately needed to bury himself in her, to leave behind all his macho bluster and immerse himself mindlessly in her love and acceptance. To lose the public Scott Harper in an explosion of pure lust—and intimacy.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Hadn’t happened in a long time. Meg didn’t want him. The sooner he came to grips with that reality, the better. But it hurt. And made him feel more vulnerable than he’d ever thought possible.

BUD JERKED AWAKE, the elbow to his ribs an urgent summons. “What?”

“You’re snoring again. Roll over,” Marie said, pushing gently against his shoulder.

“Okay,” he mumbled, sorry he’d disturbed her, but equally sorry she’d disturbed him. He’d been having a great dream about playing baseball for some high-school team. “Bud, Bud, he’s our man,” the crowd had chanted. Made him feel good. Young.

But now he was wide awake, while beside him Marie quickly settled back into the sleep of the dead. She could do that. Fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Didn’t seem fair. He’d probably be awake for hours now. Especially since he was unaccustomed to this strange bed.

Around him the house was silent except for the periodic cycling of the air conditioner. Tomorrow they’d be going to watch Justin play soccer in the afternoon, and then to the football game where Hayley was cheering. Good kids, both of ’em. A bit spoiled, though. They hadn’t even volunteered to clear the table, much less do the dishes. Maybe they did have homework, as they’d claimed, but while he’d been getting ready for bed, he’d heard Hayley chattering on the phone, and not about school assignments.

After dinner he’d talked with each of the grandkids privately. They’d both assured him they hadn’t spilled the beans and that their parents knew nothing about the anniversary surprise. Justin, though, had mentioned something that worried Bud. “Grampa, I don’t know if our surprise will help.” When Bud pressed him for an explanation, Justin had shuffled his feet and said, “Never mind.”

Bud propped himself up on a second pillow to alleviate a touch of heartburn. He replayed his grandson’s remark. Not that Scott and Meg wouldn’t like the surprise but that it wouldn’t help. Help what?

In the calm of the night, he reflected on their arrival. No Scott. Meg determinedly pleasant. Her careful avoidance of the issue of Scott’s lateness. Almost as if she didn’t expect him for dinner.

And what about Scott? When he’d finally shown up, he’d been the charming host, asking them all the right questions, entertaining them with his story of wooing the Jordan account.

Bud sat up and burped, relieving some of the pressure in his chest, then lay back down. The missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Meg. Scott had touched her rather perfunctorily on his return, but they hadn’t addressed any conversation to each other. Certainly, they hadn’t exchanged any of those silent, loving glances married couples use as romantic shorthand.

A sense of foreboding caused Bud to roll over on his side and cuddle Marie close. Not Meg and Scott. Surely it was just his imagination.

They’d been too polite, too reserved, too distant. What was the word he was searching for? Too unnatural. He tried to relax, tucking Marie’s head into the crook of his neck. Even her nearness failed to ease his worries. He had the strongest sense that something was wrong between Meg and his son.

And whatever the something was, he could only pray that the long-planned anniversary surprise would help. He wished Justin thought so, too.

What did the boy know that he didn’t?