Family Be Mine (16 page)

She looked at him baffled. “You're weird, you know that?”

“It's part of my charm. So tell me you'll at least think about my offer?”

She rubbed her mouth. Her lips were definitely swollen. She nodded, bobbing her head. “No guarantees, though.”

“Are there ever any?” He turned and released the emergency brake. “I don't know about you, but I'm feeling pretty chipper at the moment. So good in fact, that I'm thinking of calling up Ben and Katarina and inviting them for dinner at our place. I still have the
boeuf Bourguignon
in the fridge, you know.”

“I know.” She had lifted the lid on the stew that morning. There was enough to feed all of central New Jersey.

“Can we at least wait until Fred has learned ‘sit'?” But two words resonated in her mind—
our place
.

“S
WITCH
,” L
ENA SHOUTED
to Wanda as she crossed from the deuce to the ad side of the tennis court. It was the resumption of their suspended match with the mother and grown daughter. Normally, Lena knew how Wanda took particular delight in thrashing a player who was a good thirty years younger than she. But since Tiger had died, not much had been normal for her.

Lena, of course, was much too mature to relish beating people simply because they were younger and fitter. She liked beating anyone, period.

“I got it,” Wanda called out. She backpedaled for a lob, her left foot crossing over her right. A light breeze caused the ball to drift farther back than she anticipated. The frame of her racket tipped the ball, and the ball ricocheted. And the outside edge of her right tennis shoe slipped on the court at an awkward angle. She cried out, falling to the ground. She clutched her ankle.

Lena came running. “Wanda, are you all right?”

Wanda looked up and frowned as their opponents came from the other side of the court. “They're here to inspect the damage,” she said under her breath.

“Stop it,” Lena chastised. “They're just concerned.” Lena looked over and explained the situation. “I think it's just a little sprain,” she said. “But we really do intend to finish this match.”

The out-of-work banker daughter, who had previously been so snippy, held her tongue.

“Good then,” Lena said when she didn't get any complaints. “Next week it is, right, Wanda?”

Wanda screwed up her face in pain. “This is so irritating. We were just about to break them, and we could have taken the first set.” She swatted Lena away when she put her hand under her elbow to help her up. Instead, she rolled to her left side, braced herself on the butt of her racket, and hoisted herself up. She hopped to the chairs at the side of the court.

“There are other things besides winning,” Lena said, following her.

“So you say. Given my age and current single status, sex is not on the horizon. That leaves only death and taxes. For joy, for joy.”

The mother and daughter cooed their “get well soon's” and packed up their gear.

Wanda barely acknowledged their sympathies. “That's all I need. Another injury. First my elbow, now my ankle. I'm falling apart in front of my eyes, and I don't have Tiger to help me get through it. I made him promise to live a long life, and look what happened?” she grumbled.

“C'mon,” Lena said. “We will go and get some cold on it right away. I have a bag of frozen peas in the freezer just for such an occasion. I think Katarina even left an Ace bandage in the bathroom vanity from when she was living with me last year. If it's not there, I can always call her.”

“Watch! It won't be Katarina we're going to need to call. It'll be Sarah.”

“You don't need Sarah,” Lena hushed her. “She has enough on her mind.”

“You mean the appointment with Julie this morning? From the way she apologized for canceling our PT session, you would have thought she was cutting me off without bread and water.”

“I know. She's too conscientious for her own good. I texted Hunt, and he promised to let me know if there were any complications about those fainting spells of hers.”

Wanda reached around and slipped her warm-up jacket off the back of the chair. Then she picked up her tennis racket and worked it into her bag. There was no yapping from Tiger to greet her or to complain about being crowded. Wanda sighed.

“I suppose it's good that Hunt went with her. I know I said she's a strong and capable woman, but in moments of stress, especially at the doctor's office, it's nice to have another set of ears. Remember how you used to come with me to see the surgeon after I found out I had breast cancer?” She sniffed.

“Of course I came with you. What are friends for?” She stood to the side, holding herself back when Wanda got to her feet. That didn't stop her from grabbing Wanda's bag and walking slowly next to her as she hobbled to her car.

Lena pursed her mouth. She didn't like this attitude she was seeing from Wanda. Something wasn't right. She waited until they got to the cars, and when Wanda was about to open her car door, she looked her in the eye. “What are you really talking about, Wanda? I know you went for a mammogram appointment last week.
Did your breast cancer come back again and you're not telling me?”

Wanda shook her head. “I won't get the results until next week, but, no, I'm not worried. I'm sure everything is fine.”

A squirrel ran across the grass and jumped down the steps by the courts. He snickered as he raced up a Norway maple.

Wanda watched him disappear. She turned back to Lena. “I know you said next week for tennis, but I'm not so sure.”

“What do you mean you're not so sure? It's a little sprain. You act like it's the end of the world. What's going on?”

“I'm merely being realistic. At my age, you just don't bounce back from injuries, no matter how seemingly minor.”

“What do you mean at your age? You're two years younger than I am, and you don't see me slowing down.”

Wanda shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, so maybe I
am
a little nervous about the mammogram. But once you've had cancer, no matter what, it's always in the back of your mind. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure I can go through it again.”

“Wanda.” Lena touched the sleeve of her friend's warm-up outfit—black with rhinestones, typical Wanda.

“If the news turns out to be bad, you and I, we will get through this again. You are a strong woman. The strongest I know.”

Wanda held up her hand. “Not anymore. Not since Tiger died.”

Lena said a silent,
aha
. She rubbed Wanda's shoulder in comfort. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“People who don't have dogs can't begin to imagine the loss,” Wanda said.

“Maybe. But I can identify with the death of a dear one.” Her husband, Radek, might be dead for more than fifty years, but there were times when she still got a catch in her throat—on the date of their anniversary, on the birth of their grandchild, when the sun shone a certain way over the snow crystals and made the world sparkle like a Fabergé egg. But now was not her time to grieve.

“You can get another dog, Wanda,” she suggested.

“No, I couldn't take breaking in a new dog. And I certainly couldn't take having another one die on me. It would be too much. In fact, everything is too much for me these days.” Wanda looked at her friend with an expression of exhaustion. “These days I even find owning a house too much. The mortgage payments alone—they're too much, especially on my fixed income! I was a public schoolteacher not John D. Rockefeller.”

“But your house is fairly new compared to mine,” Lena said. Lena's modest clapboard home, like the other houses on her tree-lined street, dated back to the nineteenth century. Newly arrived yuppies to Grantham were rediscovering the street's architectural funkiness and convenient proximity to the coffee shops, specialty stores and neighborhood restaurants.

Wanda, on the other hand, lived in a sixties development of modest split-levels near the shopping center. She had a garage and a bay window, but none of the charm of Lena's place.

“Nobody wants a place like that anymore,” Wanda
said, stating what they both knew. “You know that house that finally sold on my street a few months ago? It went for forty thousand below the asking price. And now the new owners are tearing it down to build some McMansion.”

She sighed again. “Besides, any house requires work, and I'm just not up to it anymore. I hate getting ripped off by workmen who see this little old lady and immediately get dollar signs in front of their eyes.” She mimicked her words with her hands in front of her face. “I'm not like you. You've always been handy. I wouldn't know how to use a screwdriver if you told me which end was which.” Wanda turned to open the back door of her Maxima. “Here. Give me my bag.”

Lena watched Wanda stow her case. “Okay, I understand what you are saying, but what does using a screwdriver have to do with cancer?”

Wanda frowned and held up her hands beseechingly. “Nothing. And everything. The bottom line is everything is falling apart—my body, my house. And all of it takes money and time to fix—two things I don't have a lot of in the long run. I know, I know, you say you'll help, and you've always been a great friend. But now you have Katarina living in town. And Ben and Matt. Pretty soon, who knows, you'll have a great-grandchild. My God, just saying that makes me feel ancient.”

“If you feel ancient, how about me?” Lena asked, still trying to buck up her friend even though she realized it was going to take more than a bit of kidding around.

“At least you are growing older with a family. All the time I was teaching, my students were my family. What can I say? I read
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
at an impressionable age.”

“From this Brodie lady I know nothing. But I do know how much you influenced your students. Look how many still send you Christmas cards and announcements when they have children.”

“But have I ever been able to send someone a photo of me holding a tiny baby? And don't say my nephews, because as we all know they were never tiny bundles of joy.”

“It's true. It's a good thing they live in San Antonio. It would be even better if they moved to Guam,” Lena agreed.

“And now I don't even have Tiger to be near me.” Wanda bit back tears.

“You'll be getting his ashes in a few weeks—in a beautiful cedar box, and I think we should say goodbye to him in style. We'll have a lovely ceremony and spread his ashes wherever you want. We could even spread them here at the tennis courts. He always liked sitting by the picnic table.”

Wanda looked fondly at the table next to the court. Dogs were strictly prohibited from the courts, which hadn't stopped Wanda or Tiger. “He did, didn't he?”

Lena breathed in, though not entirely easily. Finding a suitable resting place for Tiger was a relatively simple problem. Rescuing Wanda was another entirely.

“O
KAY, YOU CAN TAKE YOUR FEET
down from the stirrups now.” Julie rolled her stool away, stripped off her rubber gloves and threw them in the medical-waste bin.

“Everything appears just the way it should. I don't think we need to do anything further for now. You say the fainting spells have leveled off?”

Sarah swung her legs to the side and rolled to a sitting position. The paper gown she'd put on for the exam was woefully insufficient. “I've felt a little-light headed once or twice but nothing serious, especially now that I'm following your advice on snacking and all that stuff.”

“You're still going to the water aerobics class?” Julie wrote notes while she questioned Sarah.

“The second class meets tomorrow night, and I was planning on going—with Hunt.”

“Well, I want you to be careful. If you feel at all faint, out of the water—pronto.” She looked up from her clipboard. “And how are things with Mr. Hunt? You know, I still remember him from high school. He was two years ahead of me and was this golden god. How the mighty have fallen.”

Sarah frowned at Julie's tone. “Hunt's doing pretty well, considering the chemo treatment, not to mention lymphoma.” She ignored the raised eyebrows from Julie.
“Can I get dressed? Because if I weren't monumentally pregnant right now, I'd be totally freezing.”

“Oh, yeah, you can put your clothes on. Then we'll have a talk in my office next door.” She stood up and walked to the door. And stopped. “Lymphoma, huh? I figured something like that from the evidence of the chemo treatment. What type?”

“Hodgkin's.”

“As cancers go, that's a good one.”

“It seems his prognosis is good, but at the same time, it's easy for us to say. If you're going through it, I'm sure it's not that reassuring—like telling someone they're only a little bit pregnant.”

“You're right. Anyway, the way I look at it, if he can survive his mother—who has been very generous to the hospital, I must confess—he can survive anything.” She turned. “I'll just wait outside while you get dressed.”

Sarah rolled off the table and reached for her clothes. She slipped on her underpants and her leggings. The elastic waistband had stretched to twice its original size. The only thing more gigantic was the ugly white bra she was just about to put on, her cup size having risen liked activated yeast. She gave up trying to do the hooks behind her and swung the bra around to the front to do up the fastners.

Julie's comment about Hunt's mother came back to haunt her. She stared down at her belly. “You think I'll be a good mother? What if I don't love you? Who's to say I will? There're no guarantees, you know, that some mysterious spark will be there, that an instant bond will form.”

She shrugged, but her anxieties remained even as she finished dressing. She picked up her knapsack and
opened the door, ready to walk down the hall with Julie. But she was talking on her cell, so Sarah headed for the office alone. And practically stumbled over Hunt.

He was sitting in one of two chairs facing Julie's desk and stood as soon as he saw her. “So are you all right? No complications?”

“Hunt, didn't I tell you that you could stay in the waiting room, and that I'd tell you all about it?”

“Naomi the office manager was so nice. She told me I could come in for the consultation after the exam,” Hunt said.

Sarah shook her head, but she let him stay.

“So?” He straightened the chair for Sarah to sit. “What's the verdict?”

Julie marched in, took one look at Hunt and harrumphed. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“As soon as I came into the reception area, I could tell immediately this was your office,” Hunt said, seemingly oblivious to Julie's skepticism. “It was all the needlepoint pillows. Sarah's shown me some that you made for her, too. You know, my mother would love your work—all those intricate stitches. Maybe you could give a talk at her club some time?”

Sarah patted his hand and looked over to Julie, who for once had no quick rejoinder. “So, should we tell him, doctor, that I am expecting?”

He glanced at Julie. “And here she told me it was heartburn.” Hunt turned serious. “Really, she's okay, right?”

Julie fussed with the paper clip that held together the top sheets of Sarah's file, and then finally, she cleared her throat and looked up.

“As I told Sarah in the examining room, everything
appears to be normal for someone in her thirty-first week of pregnancy. Now that you're being more careful, the fainting seems to have abated—not that I'm giving you license to drive again, you understand.” She gave them both a cold eye and only eased off when they murmured agreement.

She made a few more notes on the file. “So, I'm holding off on other tests unless the symptoms get worse. The water aerobics class is fine, in fact, any regular exercise, but just be careful if you start to feel any light-headedness. You're still taking the prenatal vitamins?” Julie waited.

Hunt looked at Sarah.

She nodded.

“Good,” Hunt said, and turned to Julie. “Anything else she should be taking?”

Sarah patted him on the thigh. “Easy, Hunt, I've got this under control.” She rubbed her forehead. “I'm taking iron, too, okay?”

“Problem with constipation?” Julie asked. She looked at Sarah. Her tongue could be seen pressing her cheek out. Her eyes danced in obvious amusement.

Sarah looked at the ceiling. “I'm taking the stool softener you prescribed. Do you need the details?”

Julie wisely went back to examining her notes. “Another thing, are you going to Lamaze classes?”

“Yeah, I've done two already—with Katarina. She's my birthing partner, as you know. But I got an e-mail from her over the weekend that with school cancelled for some teachers' convention, she and Ben are taking Matt to visit colleges, and she won't be able to make it tonight. So I think I'll just give it a miss for one week.”

Julie rested her chin on her hand. “Gee, Matt is already at that stage? What is he, a junior?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? Apparently, people start this college thing when their kids still have a year to go. I think Ben and Katarina are freaking out about it.”

Hunt held up his hand. “Excuse me. About this Lamaze class thing. Couldn't I be your, what did you call it, birth partner, for the one class?” He pulled out his BlackBerry. “It's…ah…when?”

Julie studied him, then glanced at Sarah. “And here I thought you were the compulsively organized one among us.”

Sarah ignored Julie's comment. “It's really not necessary,” she said quickly to Hunt.

“Don't listen to her. I think it's a good idea,” Julie said more loudly and only a beat later. She scanned her notes with a smirk. “Lastly, have you picked out a pediatrician?”

Sarah shook her head. “I know there're two groups in town, and I thought I'd ask around to get some opinions and then set up an office visit. I'm sure my trusty sidekick here will be happy to come along,” she said somewhat condescendingly.

Julie laughed and closed Sarah's file. “I'll let you two work out the details. That's it for today. You can make the appointment for next week at the same time.”

“That soon?” Hunt asked, getting to his feet. He slipped his phone into his pocket and readjusted his jacket under his arm.

“It's just the regular routine.” Sarah got up slowly.

“Come, Mother Hen. You can put that appointment on your calendar, too, if it makes you feel better.”

They made the appointment with the receptionist,
and Hunt assisted Sarah with her jacket as they headed outside for the car. Slipping into their new routine, he helped her with her seat belt, which she appreciated, she really did, but somehow…

“You know, I appreciate your interest and all your help—I really do—but you don't need to worry about my every need.”

“You bake cookies, I worry, okay?”

“Funny, you don't come across as a worrier. You know, you really should lower your stress levels. It's not good for you.”

“I'm not working. I'm financially secure. I have a housekeeper. I have a constant supply of baked goods. My major options during the day are which route do I walk the dog, and when to turn on CNN. If I have any less stress I'll turn into a sea slug.”

“I get the point. But really, you don't need to mother me. I'm actually quite good at being independent.” She placed her hand on his chin and looked him in the eye.

“Do you really think I'm doing this because I want you to think of me as your mother?” He rubbed his chin back and forth against her palm.

Sarah felt herself blushing and went to lower her hand.

Hunt caught it and cupped it in his. He brought his head closer. The black centers of his gray-blue eyes were large. His expression conveyed sincerity. And more—much more.

Sarah shifted her eyes slightly downward to his open mouth. She felt his light, warm breath on her skin, his long fingers gently massaging her hand.

“I don't want you to be my mother, either,” she said in a whisper.

“Sarah, watch me,” he said.

She looked up.

He smiled. “Wow! I didn't even need a treat to get you to respond, but maybe this will do.”

Then he kissed her, hard and swift. She took her hand from his grasp and brought her arms to his shoulders, and she kissed back with a longing that was so deep it almost hurt. It was like diving into an unknown abyss—but one that beckoned with flames of desire that licked at her heels and scorched her insides.

Finally, he drew back.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Wow is right. You're going to have to turn on the defroster to unfog the windows.” She fanned her face.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, this time a series of nips and nibbles on her lips.

She could feel the heat rising again, and she didn't even bother with the excuse of hormones. She knew better.

It was all Hunt. She liked him. More than liked him. She hadn't come looking for it, and she'd certainly tried to avoid it. But no matter what, she couldn't kid herself any longer.

Maybe she was attracted to him because it proved that she was still a desirable woman. And maybe he was attracted to her because it proved an inner potency, a life force that had been restored.

If it was mutually self-serving, so be it. But it was also no use pretending any longer that something wasn't happening between them. And that something was inevitable, as well.

So what did she say after such a revelation?

“Gee, that was a novel way to wrap up a prenatal visit” was the best she could come up with.

“You think that wraps things up?”

“You and I both know it doesn't,” she said. There was no point in being coy.

“Tell me you don't have a patient scheduled anytime soon,” he said.

She looked at her watch. Nine-thirty. “Unfortunately, I've got one at ten.” She sighed. The inevitable would have to be postponed. “Listen, just drop me off at work directly. It won't hurt to get to the office early.”

“No way. We still have time to drive home, pick up the Hairy Demon and walk to work.”

“But I thought you couldn't stand walking to work?”

Hunt absentmindedly rubbed the scratch on the side of his face, a reminder of yesterday's dog obedience class. “Maybe I'm trying to get in good with my personal trainer so she will take pity on me this evening?”

“You want pity?” Sarah smirked.

“Honey, I'll take it any way I can get it.” Hunt bit back a smile. “Besides, just remember all this walking is increasing my stamina.”

“Thank you for embedding that thought in my head for the whole day,” she said.

“Good.” Hunt started the engine. “Well, I'm glad we got that whole mothering thing worked out.”

 

“S
O DID YOU WANT ME TO PICK UP
anything besides cranberry juice and baking soda at the supermarket?” Hunt asked as they approached the parking lot behind Sarah's office. He took a much needed moment to
recoup his breath after the brisk walk, and Fred obligingly stopped to sniff the azaleas planted around the building.

He had to admit, though, the walk was getting easier. Progress, even in baby steps, he told himself.

“That's baking powder, not soda,” Sarah corrected.

“Powder, soda. What's the big difference?”

“Pretty big if you want a chocolate cake tonight, trust me.”

“I do. I do.” He leaned over and snuck a kiss.

“Hey, are you trying to destroy my professional image outside my place of work?” She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close.

“I'd like to destroy a lot more than your image, but a sense of decorum and not wanting to embarrass Fred restrains me from doing so.”

She laughed, and they walked arm in arm to the door. Fred, perhaps sensing that this moment of shared happiness might result in a treat, trotted along, a model of the well-trained dog.

Hunt was starting to think there was hope for the animal after all. He was warm and furry, which were two bonuses up front. If he could only learn to do things like walk nicely on a leash, not cower every time he saw a strange man, and not eat stray loafers, he would be perfect.

Sarah turned the doorknob. “Rufus will be so impressed to see how Fred has improved in just one day. What a good boy,” Sarah said in that singsongy voice that dog owners assumed when they were praising their pets. “And you know what, Fred? You'll even get
a chance to show him now. He's my first appointment.” She opened the door.

And stopped dead in her tracks.