Prelude to a Wedding (20 page)

"Two. But I just thought tonight maybe a
pizza or some Chinese, if you had a chance—"

"No!"

"That doesn't seem so unreasonable, Paul,"
objected Bette. "Remember how it was when you were in school and
you had to eat the horrible cafeteria stuff and there was never
enough money to buy real food? It hasn't been so long ago that
you've forgotten, has it?"

The sound she heard might have been him
grinding his teeth, but Judi's look was radiant. Feeling like a
successful conspirator, she flashed the young woman a grin before
turning an innocent face to Paul. He wasn't fooled.

"All right, you two. All right! You make it
sound as if I'm a hundred-and-seventy-year-old miser," he said with
mock grouchiness. Bette had to admire his performance, though his
eyes gave him away. "I know I can't win when the two of you gang up
on me. Women!"

He lounged back into the bedroom, grumbling
about women and being eaten out of house and home.

"C'mon," Judi invited Bette. "Let's see what
he's got to eat."

Bette wasn't hungry after the elaborate room
service breakfast Paul had ordered, but she couldn't resist Judi's
grin. Soon Judi was perched on the counter eating graham crackers
and Bette was leaning against the refrigerator with a soft drink,
listening to the younger woman's account of her recent dating
travails.

Despite the somber note of the tale, Bette
found herself wanting to smile. She'd missed this, the exchanging
of confidences between women. She'd lost touch with so many of her
friends because of the demands of school and then her business.
Even with Darla, most of the conversation and confidences centered
around business. It was refreshing to talk about something else.
For a moment she even had the uncharacteristic urge to start
exchanging opinions on clothes or hair.

"This is nice," Judi said with a satisfied
sigh, as if her mind had been running along the same lines. "It's
hard to talk to most of my friends because we all hang out in the
same group and you never know when one of them is going to turn
around and start dating some guy you've been talking about. I've
always wished I had a sister."

"Me, too," Bette admitted with a smile.
"Although I've got a pretty good brother."

"Oh, I do, too," said Judi, leaving no doubt
she meant it. "He puts on a big front, but he's a marshmallow
underneath. He and his friends— Have you met Michael and Grady?
Yes? They were great to me growing up. It was like having three
older brothers. But sometimes you just don't want to be 'one of the
guys.' It might have been different if Tris had been around more,
even though she's seven years older. But her family moved away when
I was about seven, and when she came back for college the three
guys were always around, too, so that meant no girl talk. Sometimes
I thought I'd go nuts if I heard one more word about sports." She
sighed gustily. "You're lucky you met Paul in October."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, the baseball season's over—at least
for the Cubs—otherwise he'd have you out at Wrigley Field every
day. You do know that about him, don't you? He's a baseball
fanatic."

"He seems to come by it honestly, since your
father loves the game so much."

Judi looked at her a little strangely. "Yeah,
Dad likes baseball, too, but . . ." Bette saw the moment Judi
decided to trust her. "But I think Walter Mulholland hating it
might have more to do with Paul's feelings."

"Walter Mulholland? Your grandfather?"

How strange, and how cold-sounding to refer
to your grandfather that way. Paul had done the same thing that
night at Mama Artemis's.

"Yeah. Mom's father. Hard to believe they
were related. He didn't pay much attention to me, since I was just
a kid—I was only ten when he died—and a girl on top of it. But he
and Paul . . ." She grimaced. "I can remember them going round and
round. Walter Mulholland storming and laying down the law, and Paul
standing there, not saying much except an occasional
no
."

She shifted position as though the counter
had grown harder. "I remember sitting on the steps, listening to
Walter shouting at Paul that he would do what he was supposed to or
he would no longer be a member of the family. I must have been
about six, and I thought he really could make it so Paul wasn't my
brother. I was sitting there crying when Paul found me. He took me
up and tucked me into bed, and he told me that nothing could make
him not be my brother anymore—unless I broke another of his clipper
ship models."

Judi's chuckle sounded as if it had slipped
past a lump in her throat. "He said Walter wanted to plot out his
life, and he wasn't going to let that happen. He said he'd be
damned if he'd go to Walter Mulholland's Ivy League alma mater. And
if the old man wanted to disinherit him for that, fine."

"But your parents . . ." The sentence trailed
off because Bette didn't know how to finish it. She ached for the
young Paul, yet her relationship with her own grandfather had been
so warm and loving, how could she understand this?

"They pretty much stayed out of it. They
stood their ground sometimes—like refusing to send Paul to military
school—but Dad especially never understood why Paul said no to all
those things. Ivy League schools and law school, joining the firm,
making lots of money and buying a big house. He still doesn't
understand. He was awfully poor growing up, and I guess that's the
life he'd dreamed of, so he thought for sure Paul would want it,
too. Does that make sense?"

Bette wasn't sure.

"Hey, are you ready?" Paul's voice, a bit
muffled, came from the living room.

When they came out of the kitchen, they saw
the cause: a stack of clothing that loaded his arms down to below
waist level and reached as high as his nose.

Bette met Judi's sparkling eyes and they both
broke up, perhaps partly as a release from the serious turn of
their conversation. If they'd started to form a bond during the
talk in the kitchen, the shared laughter now strengthened it.

"All right, you two, quit giggling and
somebody open the door. Before I drop this stuff." He raised his
eyebrows over the top of the stack in a way that brought on renewed
laughter from the two women. "You know, Judi, the sooner we leave,
the sooner we can come back with some dinner."

Judi promptly opened the door with
exaggerated solicitude, declaring solemnly, "Never let it be said I
was immune to bribery."

All the way down the stairs, they could hear
the echo of her chuckles. When a small sound escaped Bette, Paul
muttered, "Traitor" and glared over the top of the pile. But she
wasn't fooled, and the clothing didn't muffle all of his
laughter.

* * * *

"Hey, I like this one," Paul said as he
pulled up to the curb in front of a Dutch Colonial. The front lawn
sported an open-house sign decorated with yellow balloons. "Looks
like we saved the best for last."

"Mmm."

He grinned to himself at the small sound
Bette made as they headed up the front walk.

Earlier, when she'd talked about having a
house-searching schedule, he'd persuaded her to spend the afternoon
looking in suburbs strung north along the lake. Thoughts of why it
was important for her to consider living nearer him were pushed
away, just as he'd done with last night's questions about what he'd
gotten himself into. Instead, he focused on overcoming her
arguments about this not being her target area. When he finally
resorted to asking what harm it could do and she gave in, he'd
wondered if he'd gone crazy to actually instigate spending his
Saturday looking at houses. The surprise came when he enjoyed
himself.

With no intentions of ever buying, he'd never
considered what he would want in a house. But this afternoon he
discovered opinions he'd had no idea he harbored. Also, he found
pleasure in watching Bette at each house, analyzing and weighing.
It wasn't his way. But on her it looked good.

As they wandered through the Dutch Colonial's
rooms, he felt something expanding in his chest until, standing in
the otherwise deserted basement watching Bette frown at the
monster-shaped furnace, he pulled her into his arms.

"Paul!" Her small squawk of protest sounded
breathless enough to be encouraging.

He lowered his mouth to hers and felt a
sunburst of pleasure when she immediately parted her lips in
welcome. Backing her up, a slow, kissing step at a time, he pressed
her against the smooth surface of the washing machine. She was
gripping him, letting him know she wanted more closeness, too. God,
how could anything feel so good? Rubbing against her, he marveled
how her softness hardened him.

"Paul!" This gasp held enough true urgency
that he lifted his head from where he'd been following the open
collar of her shirt. "Somebody's coming!"

At her words, the world beyond the two of
them returned, and he heard footsteps on the basement stairs.
Together they shifted their clothes into order before the people
coming down the stairs reached the bottom. Another matter, however,
required more time to adjust.

The newcomers nodded a greeting, casting them
doubtful looks as they started their survey of the basement.
Keeping his back to the room, Paul pretended great interest in the
washer and dryer. Hoping it would help, he changed position as if
to see behind the appliances.

"I don't know about this venting system," he
told Bette, trying to sound knowledgeable.

"Maybe," she started, with a chuckle
underlying her words, "it's the coupling that's causing the
problem."

He tried to glare, but couldn't hold in the
laughter. The other house hunters stayed strictly on the opposite
side of the basement before leaving hurriedly.

"C'mon, you troublemaker, let's go upstairs
before you get me in real trouble," Paul ordered.

They accomplished the rest of the tour in
companionable silence, thanking the real estate agent as they
headed out.

"The hardwood floors are great, aren't they?"
he said as they reached the car.

"They need refinishing."

"It has a terrific yard."

"The taxes are high and they're scheduled to
go up next year in this neighborhood."

"Look at all the big old trees."

"The furnace is awfully old."

"And that screened porch is wonderful. You
could put up a hammock in the corner and—"

"I think the roof would need replacing in a
couple years."

"You could practically live out there all
summer."

"The kitchen is crying out for updating, and
the second bathroom shows sign of moisture damage."

"So you didn't like it?" He felt oddly
deflated. What was the matter with him? It wasn't as if he had a
stake in this. It wasn't as if it affected him what kind of house
she bought. He turned the engine on and pulled away.

"Of course I liked it. It's a charming, warm
home. But it's much bigger than I'd need living alone. And looking
ahead, there would be a lot of expenses keeping that kind of place
up, Paul. Besides, I can't afford a house like that. I couldn't
even afford a garage in these neighborhoods. Nobody can."

"Well, somebody's buying in these
neighborhoods, because the houses are getting sold."

"Yes, but to two-income families. I'm buying
on my own. And with one income, I need to look farther out, and in
very specific neighborhoods."

Why did she keep emphasizing that she was
buying the house on her own, going to be living in it alone? Wasn't
he supposed to show any interest? Was she trying to remind him it
was none of his business?

He accelerated from a stop sign with more
force than necessary. He just wasn't wild about her moving farther
out. It was a long enough trip as it was from his place to hers.
Not that he had any expectation one way or the other about still
seeing each other by the time she found a place and moved. But
she'd certainly be farther from her work, and chances were she'd be
farther from whomever she might be dating by then.

He ignored the gnaw of acid in his stomach
that came with that thought. Hungry, that was all. He was
hungry.

"So what do you want to get my ravenous
sister for dinner?"

"What?" Bette blinked at him as if her mind
had been very far away. "Oh, dinner. I don't know. What does Judi
like?"

"Everything," he said with feeling.

She laughed, and he felt his mood
lightening.

"Surely she demonstrated that while the two
of you were in the kitchen."

"Well, she did nibble on a thing or two."

He snorted in disbelief. "Nibble? She eats
with as much abandon as she talks—which reminds me, what were you
two talking about so earnestly in the kitchen?"

"Oh, girl stuff."

"Like?" he pursued.

"Dating. Clothes. Uh, men. Baseball.
Families."

"An interesting collection."

Suddenly serious, she turned to face him.
"She told me about your arguing with your grandfather about where
you were going to school."

He slanted a look at her, surprised at her
intensity. "Does that bother you?"

"It seems so sad. I loved my grandfather. He
was a wonderful man. He had such dreams for me, for the whole
family. He was always telling me how we would do wonderful things
in this country, building our lives, our successes. I learned so
much from him. He could see the family's success unfolding, step by
step."

If the steering wheel hadn't required both
his hands right then, he might have taken her by the shoulders and
shaken her. Yeah, she'd learned a lot from her grandfather, all
right. She'd learned to sacrifice happiness today in hopes of
success tomorrow.

"I guess you could say the same thing for
Walter MulHolland, Only I didn't fall for the indoctrination."

"Indoctrination? It wasn't like that with
my—"