Space in His Heart (16 page)

“
Well, my
mother had
one
job,” she
said, noticing a smudge of mascara on the corner of the
handkerchief. “She was a political science professor at Yale. And
in those days, tenure didn’t come easily to women and babies were
considered a liability to your career. There was no nursing lounge
in the ladies’ room back then. I imagine she wasn’t too thrilled
when she got pregnant at forty-four.”

“Did she tell
you that?”

Jessica stared
straight ahead. She hated telling this story. “I never knew her.
She died in childbirth, having me.”

She didn’t want
to see the pity. The sadness. But she looked at him anyway.

No pity
darkened his eyes. “And your father?”

“
My
father was over fifty when I was born. He’s into his eighties now,
but still doddering around New Haven, pestering the students and
faculty at Yale. We were close, I guess, but the only time he’s
shown any real pleasure in me
is
when I emulate
my mother—a workaholic.” Jessica sighed and smiled through
clenched teeth. “Doesn’t take Freud to figure it out,
Deke.”

“The influence
of a father has to be managed,” he said. “I learned that in my
twenties.”

She
nodded. Easier said than done, she wanted to add. “As for babies
and biological clocks
—
”
S
he paused and
tucked the folded handkerchief in her handbag. “I think you already
know the answer to that.”

He looked at
her questioningly and she smiled before answering, “I might be too
‘naïve and relentless’ to be a very good mother.”

His arm came
over her shoulders, heavy and comforting. “But that’s exactly why
you’d be a great mother.”

She
let
his
arm warm her and
accepted the truce he was silently offering. “I’m sorry about
today. No more interviews. I promise.”

He stood and
tucked his hands into his jacket pocket. “So, now what? Your
meeting’s cancelled.”

“My flight
doesn’t leave until four.”

“Till
then?”

She lifted the
cell phone. “Damage control from afar.”

“Keep the phone
on and come with me. I have a wonderful way to drown your
sorrows.”

A decidedly
unprofessional image flashed in her mind. “Is that so?”

Chapter
Twelve

After
they left the Plaza with their bags and waited for a cab on
Fifth Avenue,
Jessica inhaled
the smoky, sweet aroma of chestnuts grilling on a street
vendor’s cart next to them. Amidst the throngs of shoppers striding
at a classic New York pace, something soft and cold touched
Jessica’s cheek.

She threw
her head back and looked into the sky, letting the tickle of snow
dampen her face and eyes. “Finally! Oh, thank you
,
God!”

He lifted his
hand to the snowflake that lay on her cheek. His touch was a
surprise, warm and gentle. His fingers brushed her skin, leaving a
burning trail of sensation in their wake.

“
You’re
a snow angel
.”

“
I
like
winter
,” she said,
softly exhaling and holding his gaze. Deke and snow. Hot and
cold.

He finally
turned to hail a cab, breaking the spell.

When she
heard him tell the cabbie Grand Central Station, she peered at him
suspiciously
, since he still hadn’t said where they were
going
. “We’re taking a
train?”

“We are.”

“And you’re
sure you want company on your mysterious mission?”

He grinned and
patted her briefcase. “Consider it research.”

They entered
Grand Central with the rest of the commuting mob and took the
escalator down to the train level. He moved with familiarity and
ease, his hand resting on her back to guide her. Her feet felt
light, her head a little dizzy. How had he managed to transform
such a rotten day into something magical?

While he
bought train tickets, she checked in with Stuart at Kennedy and the
NASA account team in D.C. to hear how they were handling the
situation
w
ithout
her.

They’d issued a
statement and started fielding calls about the cosmonaut as well as
more interview requests for Deke. That surprised her a little, but
she told them to put all of those requests on hold and promised to
handle them as soon as she got back. No more interviews. She’d
figure out some way to get publicity without taking his time. But
she didn’t tell that to Stuart; nor did she mention that she was
off on some secret appointment with Deke.

When they
boarded the line that ended in Peekskill, she suspected where that
secret appointment might be. “Are we, by any chance, headed to see
your parents?”

“Yes, and to
lunch, prepared by the best cook I know—my dad.

Of course. He’d
told her he wanted to see his parents. “Oh.”

He smiled
at the mixture of fear and surprise in her voice. “Did you think
I’d come all the way to New York and
not
see them? They’re expecting me.”

“But are they
expecting me?” A tiny wave of panic threatened.

“Hand me that
cell phone of yours and I’ll tell them. Won’t matter. He always
cooks more than enough.” He took the phone and started dialing.

“Your dad is
the cook in the family?”

“Mmm-hmm. Mom
can’t boil water. Dad did all the cooking my whole— Hey, it’s me.”
He directed his words into the phone. “Yeah. That was a bit of a
surprise. … No, we’ll tell you about it when we get there. … I’ve
got someone with me. … The PR genius behind all this.” He laughed a
little. “Okay, see you in an hour or so. Bye.”

She looked up
at him. “Genius? Was that sarcasm?”

He handed her
the phone with a wink. “Spin control, Jess. You know all about
that.”

Tiny
flutters took her heart on a thrill ride. She closed her eyes for a
moment, reveling in the mildly acrid
,
metallic odor that permeated the train and the
gentle rhythm of the heavy iron wheels as she fell under the spell
of Deke Stockard, who not only forgave her for the mistake but
seemed bent on making her feel better.

In fact,
they never even discussed the morning’s debacle, and for the time
being, that suited her fine. All through the colorful and storied
sections of Harlem, Deke pointed out landmarks and highlighted the
forty-five
-
minute trip
with New York history before she got him talking about his
family.

“My dad was an
IBM lifer but managed to spend his whole career in White Plains, a
nearly impossible feat with that company,” Deke told her.

“You said your
mother’s a columnist. What does she write?”

“It’s called
the ‘Women’s Corner’ and she started writing it for the local White
Plains paper when I was a baby. Sort of an information resource for
IBM spouses—all wives, in those days—and she still writes it today.
Obviously, it’s changed, but the column’s always been kind of a
witty and insightful commentary on things women worry about.” He
grinned at her. “Like raising high-risk sons.”

She laughed
softly. “I bet you were a handful.”

He leaned
close to her ear, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. “I
still am.”

The screech of
the train brakes brought the conversation to an end, but not the
pounding of Jessica’s pulse. Within a few minutes, they were in a
cab driving down an oak-lined street with stone houses and circular
drives.

He hadn’t even
finished paying the cab fare when the front door of the two-story
brick colonial flew open and a woman gingerly stepped onto the
front porch, the accumulating snow keeping her from running to her
son.

“Deke!” The joy
at the sight of him lit her lovely face and nearly took Jessica’s
breath away.

Trim and fit in
a creamy sweater and matching wool pants, Valerie Stockard looked
very much like an elegant executive wife. When her son reached her,
she threw her arms around his powerful body and buried her face in
his chest.

“Oh, my
darling! I’m so glad to see you! You were wonderful this morning. I
was dying of pride!” Pulling back to look at his face, she lovingly
touched his cheek.

“Hi, Mom.” He
showed no embarrassment at his mother’s display but turned to
introduce Jessica. Only then did he let his mother go. As the two
women shook hands, Deke added, “Jess is the one who dreamed up this
whole thing. Dad can let her have the hard time instead of me.”

Valerie’s smile
was wide and warm through to her pale blue eyes. “Jessica, it’s a
pleasure to meet you. I’ve had so many questions about this special
project. How nice to have the opportunity to talk to you in
person.”

Tentatively,
Jessica let Deke usher them all into the front door that Valerie
had left wide open. “I’ll be happy to give you my side of it, Mrs.
Stockard. But it might be a slightly different version than your
son’s.”

“Please call me
Val. Don’t worry. I’ve been discerning fact from fiction for many
years with Deke.” They entered the house to the comfort of a
classic center hall, a fire burning in the living room and a giant
Christmas tree laden with ornaments right next to it.

An imposing man
with a shock of silvery hair and keen brown eyes strode through
another doorway toward them. Except for the color of the eyes, she
was looking at Deke in thirty years.

“You must be
Jack Stockard.” She spoke without thinking, admiring the
resemblance. Jack welcomed her with friendliness that matched his
wife’s and then turned to hug Deke.

“
Deacon,
my boy. Good to see you.”
Deacon
?
How could she not know that was his name?

The older
Stockard pounded his son’s back with affection and pulled back to
gaze at him with the same love his mother had shown, then turned to
Jessica. “So you’re the brains behind all this PR malarkey? Well, I
gotta tell you, that last stunt was brilliant.”

What was
he talking about? The
Today
s
how interview? Was he being sarcastic?

“Oh, yes!”
Valerie Stockard piped in. “Mark Dobson was simply fawning over
you, Deke. And kissing the baby! It was adorable. Goodness, did you
think of that to save the day, Jessica?”

Her sharp
intake of breath was her only response and her mouth stayed open,
causing Deke’s sheepish grin to widen.

“I think
Jessica was in with the producer during that part of the show,” he
said quietly.

“You… kissed… a
baby?”

“Why, yes, I
did. He was a cute little guy.”

“Did… did you
go to the outside set, Deke?” And save the whole morning with one
unselfish act? A piece of her melted as he nodded.

“Let’s relax in
here for a few minutes.” Valerie moved them all into the kitchen,
apparently unaware of the drama unfolding between her son and their
guest. “If you missed it, we have it on tape, Jessica.”

Deke allowed
Jessica to go into the kitchen before him, and she did so slowly,
keeping her gaze on him over her shoulder.

“I’d love to
see the tape later,” she said, unable to hide her glimmer of
admiration.

The aroma of an
Italian kitchen, pungent with basil and tomato, surrounded her just
like the warmth of the Wedgwood blue and yellow kitchen. Deke
followed his dad directly to the six-burner stove and put his arm
on the older man’s shoulder.

“
You love
that iron skillet, don’t you? I knew you
’d
use it. I couldn’t live without
mine.”

Were they
discussing a pan? Jessica looked to Valerie for some logical
explanation as her hostess finished setting the cozy table in the
eat-in kitchen. Valerie smiled knowingly.

“Cooking and
flying. The rest of the world could come to a standstill and these
two would still discuss cooking and flying.” She shook her head and
gazed at the two men she so obviously loved. “I don’t mind. We eat
well!”

Jessica picked
up the napkins on the counter and began setting them in place.
“Your home is lovely.”

“Thank you,
dear. How long have you lived in Florida?”

“Oh, I don’t
live there,” Jessica explained. “I live in Boston. I’m just on a
temporary assignment.”

“Oh.” Valerie
looked vaguely disappointed. “How long will you be at the
Cape?”

“
The
assignment ends in February, when
Endeavour
is launched.”

“Jessica’s a
dyed-in-the-wool New Englander, Mom,” Deke said as he approached
the table. “Can’t find a redeeming feature about the Cape, or
Florida, for that matter.”

She shook
her head to defend herself. “It’s not what I’m used to. It’s
so
warm
all the
time.”

“You should
take her sailing, Deke,” his mother said. “She’d love the
water.”

“Speaking of
weather, Deke, ” Jack chimed in, “I’d check the airport in this
storm. You can expect delays.”

Deke
agreed, leaving Jessica alone with
his parents
as he went to call the airline. Jack
immediately drew her in with a description of the feast that
simmered on the stove.

“How did you
learn to cook so well?” Jessica asked, accepting a cup of hot tea
from Valerie, letting the relaxing comfort of their kitchen and
family spread through her like the warm liquid.

“My mother was
full Italian, Anna Maria Cipriani,” Jack explained. “She moved here
and married my father, a stiff and structured German named Claus
Stockard, and the result is a very passionate engineer. Me.” She
could see the influence of the dark and romantic Italian blood in
his handsome face as he spoke. “But she never lost her love of
cooking and passed it on to me. And I, hopefully, have done the
same with Deke.”