Kids Is A 4-Letter Word (16 page)

“I see,” Mrs. Patterson said slowly, studying Jo’s face as if trying to determine how a person could do such a thing.

Rising to her feet, Jo said, “I’m sorry for deceiving you, Mrs. Patterson. I feel terrible about this whole situation, and I’ll understand completely if you want to cancel the contract.”

Her hands steepled, Mrs. Patterson remained silent for a full minute, then shifted forward in her seat. “I’m still of the opinion that we need a designer who is able to connect with children.”

Jo swallowed resolutely, then she opened her purse to remove the check.

“And,” the woman continued, “I still think we have the right person in you…Jo.”

Incredulous, Jo stammered. “Y-you do?”

“You’re a natural with kids—you might not see it, but other people do. Those children respond to you. And we were very impressed with your software demonstration—I don’t think my husband and I have ever reached a decision so quickly.”

“You mean it had nothing to do with worrying about being sued for Jamie’s accident?”

Mrs. Patterson shook her head. “We carry millions of dollars’ worth of insurance to cover situations like that, Jo. It had no impact on our decision to give you our account.” She smiled at last. “You underestimate your sales capabilities.”

“Thank you. I’m flattered.”

Mrs. Patterson sighed. “But I’m genuinely disappointed to discover those children aren’t yours…it somehow seemed so right Apparently, you underestimate your capabilities in other areas, as well.”

Jo left the Pattersons’ office feeling stunned. The fact that she still had the account wasn’t nearly as amazing as Mrs. Patterson’s other revelation.

She actually thought Jo was good with children.

J
O DROVE BY
John’s house seven times Monday morning, waiting for his car to leave. Finally, when the furniture van
arrived, she sighed and pulled into the driveway, bracing herself for the physical onslaught of his presence.

Billy’s screams of “Bad potty, bad potty” filled the air when she opened the front door.

“John?” she called.

A few seconds later, he walked in carrying a tearful Billy. “I can’t figure it out. What is it about that damned potty?”

“Just Plain Jo!” Billy exclaimed, reaching for her.

Reluctantly, Jo took him, reveling in the feel of his chubby arms around her neck, his chubby legs around her waist. “Poopy diaper,” he whispered.

Jo and John exchanged glances. “He’s difficult,” they said in unison, then smiled.

“Some of the furniture is here,” Jo said, nodding toward the front door. “This place will be starting to take shape when you get home this evening.”

“I took the day off to potty-train Billy, even if it kills us both,” John said, raising his hands palm up. “So you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh,” Jo said, squirming. “Well, I won’t be here that long—just until everything’s in place. There’ll be more furniture delivered every morning this week.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead, “John, Claire mentioned once you had paintings packed away that your wife painted.”

He stiffened. “Yes.”

“Well,” she said softly, “I think it would be a very nice thing if your kids could grow up surrounded by her artwork, don’t you?” She held her breath.

He stared at her for a long time, then bit his lip and nodded. “Okay, I’ll bring them out of storage.”

She walked to the door and instructed the men to start unloading the furniture, then walked into the downstairs bathroom to retrieve a diaper. Immediately, he stiffened and whined, “Bad potty, monster potty get Billy.”

Sighing, she set him down in the hall, then went into the bathroom and rummaged through the vanity cabinet When she
looked back, Billy had poked his head around the corner. “Monster potty,” he whispered ominously.

Jo followed his stare and frowned at the commode and the colorful potty-chair sitting next to it She stood and walked over to the toilet and touched the back of it. “Good potty,” she said.

“Good potty,” Billy parroted.

She touched the small potty-chair. “Good potty.”

“Good potty.” He grinned, but still hung back.

“Come and sit on the good potty, Billy,” she said, smiling and nodding.

He shook his head firmly. “Monster get Billy.”

“I give up,” Jo mumbled, stooping to right a black plasticdragon toilet-brush holder.

“Monster get Billy!” the toddler shrieked, cowering at the door.

Jo frowned, then looked at the cartoonish animal shape in her hand. “Is this what you’re afraid of?” She held it up, and Billy fled, wailing at the top of his lungs.

Straightening, Jo covered her mouth with her hand, laughing quietly.

“What’s going on?” John asked from the doorway. “Where’s Billy?”

Jo turned and held up the plastic dragon. “He’s afraid of the toilet-brush holder.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. There’s one in the upstairs bathroom, too, isn’t there?”

He nodded. “You mean, all this time…?”

“Yup.”

He brought the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I
have
seen Jamie use them in his Peter Pan escapades—he probably terrorized Billy more than once.” Hands on hips, he shook his head and laughed with her. “I owe you big for this one, Jo.”

After a few seconds, their laughter faded, and their gazes met. Finally, Jo smiled nervously and said, “Maybe we can call it even, then.”

He studied her face for a few seconds, then nodded. “Sure.” To her surprise, he extended his hand.

She stared at his big fingers, then slowly lifted her hand and slipped it inside his. Their skin touching was electric, at least for Jo. The nerve endings in her fingers throbbed. Instead of a handshake, the clasp was intimate and warm, palm nestled against palm. At last, Jo retrieved her limp hand, and tried to smile. “I’ll get rid of Billy’s monster and leave you two alone with the potty.” Completely shaken, she left the bathroom, determined to stay out of sight the rest of the morning.

O
UT OF SIGHT
was not out of mind, John decided as he sat on the bathroom floor, watching his toddler read while sitting contentedly on the potty. He sighed, wishing he could stop wanting her, could stop…loving her. He blinked at his own admission, then watched as his son craned his neck.

“Just Plain Jo?” Billy asked, pointing to the door.

John nodded. “Jo’s still here, Billy.” Pam expanded his chest. “Just don’t get used to it,” he whispered sadly.

B
ETWEEN
tying up loose ends at the Sterling house and taking care of last-minute arrangements for the wedding, the week flew by. Thursday afternoon Jo did a preliminary walk-through by herself in preparation for John’s final walk-through scheduled that evening. On the way back to her office, she stopped at her duplex and boxed her collection of Nancy Drew books, then walked to her car to stow them in the trunk for Claire. She was startled when a handsome older gentleman came around the side of her house and approached her.

“Good day,” he called, his breath white in the crisp air.

“Hello,” she said, smiling. “Can I help you?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said. “My name is Torry Rodgers and I’m looking for Hattie Stevens.”

Jo stared at him, stupefied. “
You’re
Torry?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, smiling. “Do you know Hattie?”

“I’m her niece, Jo Montgomery.” She couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well, that’s marvelous! Can you tell me where I might find her?”

“I’ll do better than that,” Jo said, grinning. “I’ll take you to her.”

He followed her back to the office. Jo didn’t go inside—she simply let him in, turned the Closed sign on the door and climbed back into her car. She could work from the duplex today. After all these years, the couple deserved a private reunion. “Good for you, Aunt Hattie,” she whispered.

Alan called three times that afternoon to check on minor things, and each time Jo found her patience wearing more thin.
“I really don’t care what kind of champagne we toast with, Alan, just make sure there’s plenty of it.”

To her surprise and delight, Pamela had been her saving grace the past few days, doing anything and everything Jo asked her to do, plus anticipating dozens of things Jo had forgotten.

On the way to the Sterling house, her mother called on the car phone and chatted about nothing for ten minutes, then cleared her throat and said, “Josephine, I hope you remembered to see your doctor and arrange for birth control.”

Stunned, Jo realized her mother thought she was still a virgin. It took her a few seconds to recover. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good, because the wedding night can be very scary if you’re not prepared.”

Pamela would not believe this conversation. “Okay.”

“So, are you—” Helen cleared her throat again “—prepared, dear?”

Jo bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. “I think I know what to expect, Mother, yes.”

“Good, because if you have any questions, I’ll be glad to answer them, or if I don’t know, I’ll ask your father.”

Jo held up the handset and looked at it, incredulous. She put the phone back to her mouth and said, “Thanks, Mom.”

By the time she pulled into John’s driveway, she was a walking bundle of nerves. The entire house was lit up, and Jo sat looking at it, realizing how accustomed she’d grown to its rooms, its lines, its ambience. She stepped out of the car, zipping her coat, then pulled the carton of books from the trunk and headed toward the door.

She’d barely reached the top step when the door flew open and the kids came running out.

“Jo!” Jamie cried. “My room is neato!”

“Where’s your cape?” she asked.

“I’m just Jamie again,” he said bluntly, then smiled shyly, a first. “You can call me that—Jamie, I mean—if you want to.”

Claire pulled her down for a whisper. “My boobies don’t hurt anymore, Jo. And guess what?”

“What?” Jo whispered back.

“Jeremy Winder carried my books to math class!”

“Really?” Jo’s eyes widened.

“Don’t tell Daddy,” Claire begged.

“It’s our secret,” Jo promised.

“Just Plain Jo!” Billy said, pulling on her pants leg. “Billy is big boy now.”

She noted the lack of a diaper under his jeans with an exaggerated gasp. “Yes, you are a big boy, aren’t you?”

“Need a hand?” John asked from the doorway.

She looked up and drank in the length of him, head to toe, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed casually. Her mouth went dry, and she could only hand him the carton. “There are two more in my car,” she said, turning back to get them.

He told the kids to come in from the cold, then caught up with her and withdrew the larger box, leaving the smaller one for her. “So, Saturday’s the big day.”

She smiled, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh.”

“My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”

Glancing up, she said, “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Who knows?” His voice was soft and teasing. “I might just crash the party.”

He walked ahead of her, then said over his shoulder. “What’s in these boxes, anyway?”

“Books!” Claire squealed from inside the house, lifting volumes from the first carton. They set down the other boxes and Jo watched as Claire arranged the books chronologically, fingering the spines lovingly. Once she’d finished, she rose and hugged Jo around the waist. “Thanks, Jo. I’ll take good care of them.”

“I know you will,” Jo said, stroking her hair.

John cleared his throat loudly, then asked abruptly, “Aren’t we supposed to be doing a walk-through?”

“Right,” Jo said, releasing Claire. He obviously wanted her to leave as soon as possible.

To force herself to keep her mind on business, Jo grabbed a clipboard and pen, then backtracked with John to the entryway. He coolly approved each selection from wallpaper to sculpture. In his office, Jo noticed that several wide file cabinets had been added, along with a drafting table.

“I decided to move my office home,” he explained. “To be with the kids as much as possible.”

Jo nodded, her admiration for John growing even as her chest tightened with pain. He was a good father and deserved a partner who would be an equally good parent. She brushed aside the disturbing thoughts and forged ahead with the walk-through.

They moved throughout the downstairs, Jo’s spirits alternately lifting and falling when she recognized how well the rooms had turned out and how much she was going to miss being in them. She especially liked the green kitchen, and had instructed a still life of Annie’s be hung by the breakfast table. The overall effect of the first floor was homey and livable. She could tell John liked it very much because his children moved through the rooms so comfortably.

They all climbed the stairs, the boys showing off their room first, then Claire. Jo pretended she had never seen any of it before tonight, exclaiming over every piece of furniture, and every picture. After reviewing the guest room, they left the kids in their rooms and she followed John to the master suite, conscious of her physical reaction to his proximity in the intimate setting.

He opened the door, and Jo caught her breath. The room was still decorated as beautifully as she’d left it, but John had changed it to reflect the way she’d presented it to him with the software: the bed was turned down, jazz music played softly, even a fire in the sitting-room fireplace. It was stunning and titillating.

“H-how’s the new mattress?” she asked, her eyes riveted to the bed.

“Heavenly—didn’t you try it?”

She raised her gaze to find him staring at her. “No.”

His smile was slow and provocative. “Want to?”

Unsaid words hung in the air between them. Jo blinked first. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said quickly, moving away from him. “You’re happy with the rooms, then?”

“As happy as I can be under the circumstances.”

She looked at him and frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Look around—these rooms are for lovers, not for one man to rattle around in.”

She felt her cheeks grow even warmer.

He laughed ruefully. “You know, when I asked you to decorate this home to your taste, I thought it was a brilliant strategy.”

“You don’t like it?” she asked, alarmed.

“Oh, I like it tremendously,” John assured her, then added softly, “but my strategy backfired, because you’re in every room.”

Jo stared at him, and her mouth opened. Her brain short-circuited and transmitted words of love to her tongue, but they stalled there. She longed to share this room with him, to lie beneath him in his bed—but a frightening thought crossed her mind. What if she sacrificed everything for this man only to discover a few months from now that the lust had diminished and she was left with a husband who didn’t love her and three children she couldn’t bear to leave?

“I have to go,” she said suddenly, backing out of the room. She trotted down the stairs and gathered up odds and ends she’d left lying around in far corners of the house—a ruler, a level, color strips.

When she turned toward the front door, she was surprised to see the four of them standing together. Claire stepped up and handed her a gift wrapped in ratty Christmas paper. “It’s from all of us,” she said. “So you don’t forget.”

Jo’s hands shook as she removed the paper to reveal a framed picture, painted by Claire. It was the front of their house, impressively detailed and colored. In the yard stood a
tall man with red hair, and three children, all appropriately sized and hair-colored. The picture blurred as Jo’s eyes watered, her throat clogged with emotion.

“We signed our own names,” Jamie said, his voice full of pride. “Except for Billy—he used his handprint.”

“And Dad picked out the frame,” Claire piped in.

“It’s beautiful,” Jo said tearfully, kneeling to gather them in a hug. “Thank you. I’ll miss all of you.”

She released them abruptly, then stood and faced John.

He looked at her, through her, not really focusing. “Good luck, Jo.”

She nodded. “Goodbye, John.” Then she turned and walked out the door, clasping the picture to her chest.

“J
O
!” Pamela admonished. “Everyone’s waiting!”

Jo looked up from her handkerchief into her best friend’s concerned face. “I can’t stop crying.”

“It’s your wedding day—you’re supposed to cry.” “Not this much, Pamela. I don’t think I can do it.” “Of course you can do it. Alan’s waiting up there with a huge grin on his face, and I’m wearing this horrid peach taffeta dress—all for you.”

Jo smiled through her tears and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “I can do this, I can do this.” She kept repeating it to herself as she exited the dressing room and her father offered her his arm.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, beaming. “Are you ready?”

Jo nodded and kept repeating, “I can do this, I can do this.” But as soon as the doors to the small chapel were opened, she began to sob and nearly buckled. Her poor father half pushed, half dragged her down the aisle past a jam-packed crowd of family and friends and deposited her beside Alan, whose forehead was slightly creased with concern. “Jo,” he whispered, “are you all right?” She nodded, then yanked the silk hankie from his breast pocket and blew her nose mightily.

The music ended, and the preacher began, “Dearly beloved—”

“Wait,” Jo said, holding up her hand. The audience gasped.

“Jo,” Alan snapped, “what is wrong with you?”

“I need a minute with my aunt.”

Alan looked incredulous. “What?”

Jo turned around and held her gloved hand over her eyes against the bright lights. “Hattie, where are you?”

Her aunt stood in the second row and made her way to the aisle. “Right here, dear.”

Jo waved her over behind the organist, then turned to the singers and said, “Sing something.”

They broke into a hesitant version of ‘O Promise Me,’ then Jo asked Hattie, “So, how’s Torry?”

Hattie’s smile was joyous. “He’s simply wonderful.”

“Do you think you two will get married?”

“Oh, yes.” Hattie nodded convincingly, dislodging a bright orange straw hat with a white plume. “He proposed last night.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Like I said, Jo, you know when it’s right.”

“What are you going to tell Herbert?”

“That I hope he finds someone who loves him the way I love Torry.”

A cold hand wrapped around Jo’s arm from behind, and she turned to face her mother. “Josephine Helena Montgomery, are you trying to send me to the grave from a heart attack?”

“Mother, I just want to be sure I’m marrying the right man.”

“The right man?” Helen said tightly. “Look at your groom, darling! He’s gorgeous, he’s smart, he’s successful—”

Jo looked at Hattie. “She’s right.”

“But does he curl your toes?” Hattie asked.

Helen frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Helen, I’m talking about the bedroom—”

“Stop right there, Hattie!” Helen held up her hand. “I’ll
not have you talking about perverted things in front of my daughter.”

At the sound of a deep voice being cleared, Jo looked over her shoulder.

“Jo,” Alan said, motioning to the crowd. “Everyone’s getting a little restless. What’s going on over here?”

Jo shooed her mother and aunt back to the pews, then turned to Alan. She looked into his eyes and all the powerful feelings of admiration, respect and companionship were resurrected. Alan loved her, and would make her happy.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

They took their places and the singers stopped mid-lyric. The minister began again, and so did Jo’s tears. She leaned on Alan and sobbed throughout the introduction. John didn’t love her. He’d move on to find a mommy for his kids—someone who could cook and sew and swap coupons with other mothers. When the minister asked if anyone objected to the joining of this couple, the only sound that could be heard were her sobs echoing off the walls.

The minister paused for so long even she looked up at him. Then the peal of a bell sounded, jarring everyone to their feet. “Fire alarm!” the minister shouted. “Everyone stay calm—”

But his words fell on deaf ears. The guests stampeded to the back of the church, out into the hall and down the front steps. Worry and relief flooded Jo when she realized the ceremony would be delayed a little longer. She and Alan were among the last to emerge into the cold, blustery wind. Rain was threatening to spill from the gray sky any moment. Remembering what John had said about crashing the party, she shivered and scanned the milling crowd for his face, wondering if he might have slipped in to sit in a back pew.