The Sweetheart Hoax (9 page)

He cocked his head to the side and pondered his mother’s question. This new Margot certainly was putting on one hell of a show. The wind tossed her carefully controlled tresses into disarray, helping him snap out of the weird place he’d let himself visit. Margot. Young Margot with the crazy hair and ugly clothes.
Except she’d buried her mother and put herself through school.
And when she put a little effort into her appearance, she didn’t seem so young after all.

“You both must be starving after traveling all afternoon.” His mother led them up the stairs and inside the house. “I’ve got some stew on the stove and fresh bread in the oven. Why don’t you grab your bags, Philly, and let Margot freshen up until dinner’s ready?”

He heard her talking, he knew she wanted him to get their things from the car and get settled, but he felt overwhelmed by the sights and smells of his home. The familiar squeaking of the screen and the cracking pop it
voiced
as it slammed shut. The smell of dinner in the kitchen and the slightly musty undercurrent even his mom’s best potpourri couldn’t mask. The faded braided rug under his feet and the wood in the fireplace waiting to be lit. He felt years older in the house that seemed to have shrunk around him, and yet as young and carefree as the child who’d once claimed it his own.

“Phil?” His mother slapped him on the shoulder. “Go get the girl’s bags, honey. She looks ready to drop.”

He looked over at Margot. She didn’t look ready to drop, she looked anxious and alone, twisting her hands together, her eyes wide with appeal that he snap out of his reverie and throw her a lifeline. “Mom, Margot loves sweet tea. Would you mind getting her a glass while I bring the bags in?”

“Headed that way,” his mom said with a wave of her hand. As he stepped onto the porch, he heard his mother compliment Margot on her dress.

He gathered Margot’s suitcase and makeup bag, along with his hanging bag and travel case, as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to leave his mom and Margot alone for too long without him there to run interference. As much fun as he’d had with Margot on the plane, they should have spent a lot more time syncing their stories. He was half way up the staircase to the second story when he heard his mother call, “I put fresh towels in the guest room, Phillip, and cleaned out some space in the closet. Put your bags in there and then come on down.”

The guest room?
Surely she meant for him to put Margot’s bags in the guest room. He wheeled her suitcase into the room with buttercup walls and the queen sized iron bed. The sheer curtains fluttered in the breeze and his mom had placed a finger vase of daisies on the nightstand. He could envision Margot there, her curls across the soft blue pillowcase, snug under the heavy white quilt his grandmother had made.

He continued to his room on the same floor and stopped dead in his tracks at the threshold. “What the hell?”

He dropped his bags on the wooden hallway bench and jogged down the steps. His mom and Margot sat at the round kitchen table, sipping tea from old Coke glasses. “Mom. Anything you want to tell me about my room?”

She smiled up at him like the Cheshire cat. “You mean my new office? Do you like it?”

“What do you need an office for and why did you have to use my room? What about Devon’s?”

“Devon’s room is too dark and yours looks out over the meadow. It’s a happier view.”

“A happier view,” he muttered under his breath. “Where’s all my stuff? And where do you expect me to sleep? In Devon’s room?”

“Your stuff is in the barn. If you’d ever drive here, you could go through it and take what you want so we could get rid of the rest.”

“Get rid of it?”

“What is with you and your brother? Really, you should have seen the fit he pitched when we gave his bed to Goodwill.”

“When you…what did you put in his room?”

“Your daddy’s been exercising. I got him one of those stepping machines with the TV attached and some free weights.” She patted Phil’s stomach. “He’s lost fifteen pounds.”

“Really? That’s great. I’ve been hounding him for years to do something about his potbelly.”

“It’s more like an anthill now,” she said with a wink.

He joined them at the table and reached for Margot’s glass. She tried to swat his hand away, but he snuck a quick sip first. He could have wept from the taste of his mother’s tea when suddenly everything she’d said hit him like a fist to the face. “You gave away Devon’s bed?” he asked.

“Yes,” his mother said with a disapproving glance. “We needed room for the equipment.”

“I know, but…where am I supposed to sleep? On the couch?”

She bolted out of her seat and lifted the lid off the stew steaming on the stove. “The guest room, of course.”

He looked at Margot. Her eyes bulged and she fumbled the glass of tea in her grasp. He’d never expected to sleep with her under his parents’ roof. He’d made it perfectly clear the sleeping arrangements wouldn’t be an issue as his parents would never in a million years let one of their sons sleep with a woman in the same room in their house. He knew it had been a long time since he’d been home, but it sure hadn’t been a million years. Margot kicked him under the table.

“Ouch.” He leaned down to rub his aching shin. “Mom,” he said and stood up to talk to her face-to-face. He couldn’t stand Margot’s accusing stare. “That’s not necessary. I know how you and dad feel about unmarried couples sleeping together under your roof. Neither of us would want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Sweetheart,” she tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and reached out to squeeze his arm. “You’re thirty-one years old. Seeing as how you’ve never brought a woman home, your dad and I aren’t going to make you two pretend you’re not sleeping together. We’re fine with it.”

“You’re fine with it,” he repeated. Who was this woman and what had she done with his mother? “That’s very considerate of you and dad, but I won’t put you or Margot in that position. I’ll sleep in the den. It certainly won’t be the first time.”

His mother turned around and, after giving Margot a forced smile, the same smile he’d seen her give to Mrs.
Collinsworth
after she’d given his mom a backhanded compliment after her second place finish in Cash’s annual chili cook-off, said, “Nonsense. You’ll sleep in the guest room with your girlfriend and that’s final.”

Phil looked at Margot. Her eyes had turned dark with annoyance and her mouth twitched. She looked ready to take a swing at him if he dared step closer. He took a chance when he saw her open her mouth to speak. He yanked her chair back from the table and pulled her to her feet. “I’ll just show Margot to her room and let her change for the game.” He ignored the sting of her nails biting into his hand. “Kickoff still at seven?”

“Seven sharp,” his mother said. “Give me fifteen minutes to get dinner on the table.”

“Great.” He dragged her from the room and up the stairs.
Dinner with his family, a high school football game, and sleeping with his ex-receptionist and pretend girlfriend in his boyhood home.
What could be better?

***

Margot was momentarily distracted from her red-hot anger by the sights passing by her. Fireplaces set with wooden logs waiting for a match and an evening at home. Fluttering curtains, worn rugs, rocking chairs, family photographs framed along the creaking staircase. Phil’s house screamed HOME as much as the needlepoint pillow she’d noticed on the chair in the foyer announcing they were Home Sweet Home.

He practically shoved her into an upstairs bedroom and leaned against the closed door, staring at her with one brow raised. “I know this isn’t what you agreed to,” he said with his palms in the air. “I’m not real thrilled about it either.”

Of course he wasn’t thrilled. She felt sure the last thing he wanted was to sleep in the same bed with her. Other than panic and an upset stomach that could very well be due to the ultra-sweet tea, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about the turn of events. Phil’s mother, Margot could tell, was up to something.

“Your mom planned this, Phil. She’s a part of the plan.”

“What plan?” he asked. “My mother would never allow us to sleep together under normal circumstances.”

“What’s so abnormal?” Margot asked. “You told her you were bringing someone to stay for the weekend. If she really had a problem with us sleeping together, she would have made arrangements to have a bed brought in.”

“
Hummm
. You may be right.” He paced across the room and pivoted at the base of a beautiful iron bed. The ancient quilt had daisies that matched the flowers in a bud vase on the lone nightstand. “But why would she violate her own moral code? Do you think she really thinks I’m gay?” He slapped his hands on his head and yanked on the ends of his hair. Margot had never seen him so upset or so unconcerned about his locks. “My God. My own mother!”

“I don’t know what her motives are, but between the two of us, I’m the one who needs consoling. You said I’d have my own room!”

“I couldn’t have anticipated this turn of events, Margot. I swear this is the last thing I expected to happen. My brother and his wife couldn’t even sleep in the same room when they were engaged.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked. All Margot could think about was the sexy nightgown Kate had insisted she pack “just in case” something happened. She’d look and feel like a fool slipping between the simple cotton sheets in a sheer chemise, and the only other thing she’d packed were her Scooby-Doo sleep pants and matching Shaggy top. In the immortal words of her favorite comic hero,
Ruh-Roh
!

Phil looked around the sparse room. The only other piece of furniture besides a chest at the end of the bed was a wooden rocking chair in the corner. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Phil, you can’t sleep on the floor. What about your back?”

“What about my back?” he asked. He looked a little wild with his hair mussed and his hands on his hips.

“Your basketball injury? How do you think your back would feel after sleeping on hardwood floors?”

“That was a pulled muscle, like, two years ago.” He cocked his head and studied her as she felt a blush creeping up her face. “I can’t believe you even remember that.”

Whoops. She’d admitted too much and needed to diffuse the situation. “Neither one of us is sleeping on the floor.” They both eyed the bed. Margot couldn’t even imagine Phil’s body fitting between the ornate headboard and low scrolled footboard. Out of sheer necessity, they’d be all over one another. “We’ll just have to share.”

“Margot.” He dropped his hands and moved to stand before her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. The pitiful look of appeal on his face spoke volumes about his interest in sharing the bed. “You have my word I won’t take advantage of the situation. I promise nothing will happen.”

“Trust me, Phil. Your disinterest in me is obvious.” She pulled out of his grasp and heaved her suitcase onto the open luggage rack in the corner. She unzipped her bag and rifled through her things to gather what she needed to change. With her arms full of clothes, she turned to face him. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Across the hall.” She moved past him and had her hand on the knob when he said, “I’m really sorry about this, Margot.”

Not as sorry as she was going to be when the weekend was over.

The bathroom door wouldn’t lock.
Of course.
Margot stood looking at her reflection in the mirror and fought back tears. What was she doing here? How was she going to protect her heart when every time Phil opened his mouth, he shot daggers straight into her chest? She took a deep breath and assessed her appearance. The dress had held up well over the very long afternoon. Kate had been right about that, at least. Her hair was another matter. Corkscrews were popping out at the top of her head and after she slipped out of her dress and put on the shirt she picked out to wear to the game, it looked as though she’d reached the end of the frizz control’s limits. She ran her fingers through her hair and dabbed at the mascara leaking around the edges of her eyes. It would have to do, she thought as she stepped into the hallway and saw Phil lounging on the bed of their room, waiting for her to return.

She had to fight the urge to drop her things on the floor and fling herself on top of him if only to show him what he could do with his sorry. When he sat bolt upright and turned to face her, she thought he’d caught her staring and could read her mind. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“My father’s home.”

Chapter 10

Judy Williams gasped when her husband entered the kitchen through the side laundry door. “Oh, Bolton, you scared the life out of me.”

Bo set his things on the counter and leaned over her shoulder to sniff the soup she was preparing to ladle into bowls. “I saw a car in the drive. Are they here?”

“Upstairs now. They’ll be down any minute.”

“What do you think?” he asked.

Judy set the ladle down and turned into her husband’s arms. “Oh, Bo. I like her. She’s not at all what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

He tried to grab a biscuit from the cookie sheet and she swatted his hand away. The man wouldn’t lose any more weight if he kept nibbling between meals. “I mean she’s…petite and blonde. She’s all dolled up, but there’s something wholesome about her underneath. I like the way she looks at Phil.”