Built to Last (Harlequin Heartwarming) (8 page)

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” she said coolly. “If I phrased my question poorly, I apologize. I merely sought to discover whether your relationship with him had improved.”

It would never do that, Jo knew. Once she would have cared, but no longer. Instead she followed the intriguing idea that Aunt Julia, of all people, actually possessed maternal feelings.

If that were true, it meant she could have been a mother. Or even wished she had been. Was that possible? Would she ever admit it, if it were so?

“You’ve been very much like a mother to us,” Jo said. “You know how grateful we both are.”

Her aunt hid an expression of pleasure, but not quickly enough. “Whatever brought that out?”

“I’ve just…done more thinking lately about Mom, and children and parents in general. Both of the women I live with have daughters—I think I told you that.”

“I can’t believe you moved into a house full of kids. How do you get any studying done?”

“They’re both quiet. Too quiet. I actually,” she cleared her throat, “I, um, like them better than I expected to. Even Ginny, the six-year-old.”

Aunt Julia threw back her head and gave a derisive laugh. “Please don’t tell me your biological clock is ticking, and you too are starting to imagine the joys of warming a bottle for a screaming infant at 4:00 a.m.”

“Of course not!” Jo snapped. “Ginny and Emma are hardly the kids to make me think parenting would be a breeze anyway, since they both have problems. It’s just that their mothers love them. I never have the feeling they wish they weren’t burdened with children.”

There,
she thought with relief. That’s what she’d begun to notice. Helen, grieving though she was, never seemed resentful of her daughter, any more than Kathleen, who had chosen her child over her husband.

No, neither woman had had to balance a career with motherhood. Perhaps one of them had made sacrifices when she found she was pregnant. Jo didn’t know. But they
were
struggling financially, both of them. If
they ever wished that they didn’t have to put another person first, they hid it well.

It was too bad Emma in particular didn’t realize how lucky she was. Maybe Jo should tell her.

“Then you must be seeing a man,” her aunt decided, scrutinizing her. “Is it serious?”

Annoyed, Jo said, “No! I mean, yes, I’m seeing someone, but I’ve just met him. Neither of us is interested in marriage or anything like that. He already has kids, but they live with his ex. I’m happy with my life, Aunt Julia. I don’t see why expressing appreciation—”

“You’re right,” her aunt interrupted. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you making the same mistake your mother did.”

But I wouldn’t be here if Mom hadn’t chosen marriage and motherhood,
Jo thought in automatic protest.

“You knew that Boyce broke off with that… Jennifer person,” Aunt Julia said. “I’m glad. I couldn’t listen to a word she said when I visited him last time. All I could do was stare at that dreadful row of hoops through her eyebrow.”

“I didn’t know.” Jo was disturbed that her brother hadn’t called her. They weren’t so
close that they spoke weekly, but usually they updated each other on major life changes. “I’ll have to call him.”

Her aunt’s smooth brow furrowed. “He seemed upset. I didn’t care for her, but I’m afraid he did.”

On an impulse almost immediately regretted, Jo asked, “Do you miss your judge? Wasn’t it…nice, having somebody you knew so well? Who knew
you
so well?”

The answer was predictable, an arrogant, “I don’t need anyone to know me.”

Jo just wasn’t sure she altogether believed it anymore.

M
OODILY
, R
YAN SLUMPED
in his worn leather club chair, propped his feet on the ottoman and used the remote to flick on the television. He’d missed the Mariners playing the Cleveland Indians when he went to Kathleen’s earlier. Now he flipped through channels without finding anything that interested him. Frowning, he killed the television.

Why hadn’t Jo said that she wouldn’t be home this evening? When he asked Kathleen, she’d dredged up a vague memory that Jo was meeting somebody for dinner, and later he hadn’t liked to ask the others. A man had
some pride. Maybe she had a study group getting together at a coffee house.

Even if she was on a date, it wasn’t his business. He and she had barely started seeing each other. Neither had even hinted that they should be exclusive.

Which didn’t keep him from brooding over the mental image of her with another man. Laughing with quick pleasure, a sparkle in those rich brown eyes, or pursing her lips before expressing an opinion. He wondered if she knew how provocative she was when she did that.

The house had felt empty without her there tonight! He’d always liked hanging out with Emma and even little Hummingbird. Irritating his sister was a lifelong hobby that still gave him childish pleasure. Since Kathleen had ditched Ian and bought the Ravenna district house, it had been a home away from home for Ryan.

Tonight, he’d hung around for a while, but without enjoying any of the conversation. Emma had asked for help with some complicated form of graphing that might as well have been Greek to him, and he’d felt stupid. Ginny was more interested in the kitten than in him, Kathleen was paying bills with
a Grand Canyon-size frown furrowing her forehead and Helen disappeared right after dinner. When Ryan offered to mow the small back lawn, Kathleen told him the boy who’d been Pirate’s previous owner had already done it. In fact, he’d done several chores Ryan usually handled.

Out of sorts, Ryan went home.

Not that his mood had improved here. He supposed he ought to run some laundry or sweep or scrub the shower or some useful thing, but he didn’t get up from his easy chair. He was bugged by the knowledge that he was dependent for his state of mind on a woman.

How had that happened so fast? They hadn’t gone out half a dozen times: dinner, a movie, a drive up to Mt. Rainier. She had been as blunt as a woman could be about her lack of interest in permanency, marriage, children. He was supposed to be having
fun
with her. He wasn’t supposed to be ready to kick the first small child that crossed his path merely because an evening had gone by without his having talked to her or seen her.

“Not now,” he said aloud, then jumped a good six inches when the telephone rang. Despising himself for his eagerness, he snatched up the cordless, which sat on the end table
beside him, then made himself wait through three rings before answering. “Yeah?”

“Ryan.” The voice belonged to his ex-wife. “Um…hi.”

His mouth tightened. She wanted something. Wendy was as cold as a penguin’s morning swim when she didn’t. He was pretty sure she didn’t know how obvious she was, or she’d employ a subtler touch.

He tried not to antagonize her, however. For the kids’ sake, they had to get along. Trying for a reasonably genial tone, Ryan asked, “What’s up? Tyler and Melissa okay?”

“Of course they’re fine. They’re both in bed. I wanted to talk to you when they couldn’t hear.”

He wondered how stupid she thought they were. Whatever she was going to ask of him, their kids would find out eventually. Unless it was money, but that was rare. Her new husband made plenty.

“Didn’t you get my check?”

“Oh.” She sounded flustered. “Yes. Of course I did! Thank you.”

“Then?” He was sorry right away for his brusqueness, which she tended to bring out in him. If only she’d just once in her life come right out and say what she wanted.

“Melissa did really well on a big math test today.” She offered it like a sprig of olive in a bird’s beak: a tentative peace.

Ryan shifted the phone so that he cradled it between his shoulder and ear, freeing him to take a swig of pop. He needed it. “Good.”

“Tyler is loving soccer. Ronald videotaped the last game. We’ll send you the tape.”

As if wobbly, grainy images on the television screen could make up for never being able to see his own kid on the field. For not being able to pace the sidelines, yell encouragement, give quick hugs, see the triumphant grin dawn on the eight-year-old’s face when he made a gigantic save.

By moving, she’d cheated him of all that. He tried hard to be adult about this. He couldn’t expect her not to remarry, not to move when her husband got a better job. Ryan did his best not to resent her too much for what she’d stolen from him.

Most of the time, he failed.

“Yeah.” Voice gritty, he forced himself to add a curt, “Thank you.”

She started chattering about Ronald’s family and their holiday traditions, as if Ryan cared. “So you can see why we want a break,” she concluded.

Frowning, he reran what he remembered of her narrative and couldn’t find a connection. A break from what? From whom? “Yeah. Sure.”

“So you won’t mind having them? You don’t have other plans?”

He sat up, gripping the phone. Okay. He’d missed something, big time. Who was he supposed to be having? Ronald’s family?

He gave his head a shake. No. She wanted to ship the kids to him.

“For Thanksgiving,” he said tentatively.

“Actually, I thought it wouldn’t hurt if they missed a couple of days of school.” She gave a high nervous laugh. “Well, three days, technically, but you know the Wednesday before Thanksgiving they have only a half day, and that’s a joke, what with class parties and all the excitement about having a break and—”

He interrupted ruthlessly. “When do you want to send them?”

“Friday night? Before Thanksgiving?”

“For a week stay.”

“Weren’t you listening?” she asked in exasperation.

Ryan drew a breath. “I was supposed to get Christmas this year, and you Thanksgiving. Are you suggesting we switch?” He loved
Christmas! The kids had two weeks off. He’d been really looking forward to that.

“No,” Wendy said. “I know that’s not fair, especially not when I’m asking you for a favor. You can have both, if you’re okay with that.”

Okay? He was jubilant. On his feet and pacing, Ryan suppressed the exultation in his voice. “Yeah, you know I always like to have them. Have you told them…”

“No, I wanted to clear it with you first. They’ll be excited.”

“You’re sure?”

“Ronald really wants us to do something with just the two of us. We’ve had so little time alone,” she said apologetically. “Ronald has been terribly nice about taking on two school-age children. He’s really good to them. But we haven’t been married very long, and sometimes we want to do something romantic.”

Ryan said nothing. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to do anything romantic with Wendy. Listening to her light, quick voice, to the breathy apology and the clutter of details that obscured the point of her call, he couldn’t remember ever having loved her. He knew he had—or knew he’d
thought
he
was in love—but his primary emotion now was gratitude that Ronald wanted Thanksgiving without Melissa and Tyler, thus forcing Wendy to be uncommonly generous.

“Just let me know what flight they’ll be on,” he said. “I’ll give them a call tomorrow night after you’ve had a chance to tell them about the change in plans.”

“Wonderful!”

The rush of relief in her voice seemed excessive, giving him pause. It had seemed to him the kids had been conspicuous lately in how careful they’d been
not
to mention their stepfather.

Was her marriage in trouble? What kind of pressure had “terribly nice” Ronald put on her to ditch the kids? Ryan was suddenly very glad he’d have a chance to talk to Melissa and Tyler about their mom and stepdad. Over the phone, it was too awkward to ask, “How do you feel about Ronald?” Let alone ask if he ever laid a hand on them, or if he scared them in any other way. Ryan could never be sure that Wendy wasn’t listening in on another phone, or to the kids’ end of the conversation. And in the time since he’d seen them, the talks on the phone had become stilted. It scared him to think that he might
already be becoming a stranger to them, a man they didn’t really know but were obliged to maintain a relationship with. Having them for a week now, for two at Christmas, then for two months next summer… That would help.

Yeah. It would help a lot.

A knot of unhappiness in his chest loosened, and he said quietly, “I’ll look forward to seeing them, Wendy. Don’t worry during your getaway. We’ll be having a good time, too.”

And Jo could meet his kids, too, Ryan thought a moment later, after he’d hung up the phone. Maybe she didn’t want any of her own, but there was no reason to think she wouldn’t like his. Look how good she was with Ginny and Emma!

Yeah. Smiling, he drained the can of soda, resumed his seat and reached for the remote control again. They’d have a great week.

P
IRATE’S VISIT
to school was a huge success. Jo watched with pride and delight as Ginny, lovingly cradling the kitten, carried him around the circle of first-graders seated on the floor so each could pet him. Pirate purred indiscriminately. The clumsy plastic collar appealed to the little boys, and the softness of his fluffy orange-and-white coat evoked oohs and aahs from the girls.

For once the object of envy and admiration, Ginny glowed. “We rescued him,” she told one student in response to a question. “He probably would have died if we hadn’t taken him home.”

Emma, in the circle with the little kids, said, “He gets his patch off next week.”

One little girl waved her arm in the air. Signaled by the teacher, she asked, “Can he come back so we can see him again?”

The teacher smiled. “We’ll see. Now, does anybody else have something to share?”

Fortunately, nobody did, as the entire class was still entranced with the kitten.

The teacher strolled around the circle to Emma and Jo. “I understand you two plan to stay until the end of the day to wait for Ginny?”

“That’s right,” Jo agreed with a smile.

“Any chance I could talk you both into listening to some of the kids read while you wait? We never have enough volunteers, and so many of the students don’t have anyone at home who encourages their reading.”

Jo felt a moment of panic, quickly quelled. She had done plenty of preschool story-times in the library, and competently, too, she’d always felt. She could do this.

“I’ve done it lots of times,” Emma said, jumping up from where she’d sat cross-legged. “My sixth-grade class used to go once a week to help first-graders.”

“I’d be happy to,” Jo lied.

Thus they found themselves stationed at two back tables. An eager boy carrying a book came to Jo first. Whipping it open, he said, “I know how to read! Want to hear?”

“You bet,” she said.

He opened it, planted a finger under the first word, and began. “The…bbb…aa…ttt.”
His face drew into a scowl as he listened in his head to the sounds, then cleared as he declared triumphantly, “Bat! The bat!”

Jo grinned. “Right!”

Okay, this was kind of fun, really.

“The bat and…the…ccc…”

It could also get old, she decided after half an hour of listening to six-year-olds torturously sound out words, but it was still satisfying and even exciting in those magical moments when they managed the feat of putting all the letters together.

She felt some relief when the teacher clapped her hands and called, “Five minutes, everyone! Time to put your work away.”

The little girl beside Jo whispered, “Thank you,” closed her book and slid off the chair. “I wish you’d come back,” she confided, before scooting back to her desk.

Jo felt a peculiar squeezing in her chest.

Emma plopped down on the first-grader-size chair, her knees poking up almost as high as her shoulders. “I don’t remember it being that hard to read.”

“Me, either,” Jo admitted. “But it must have been.”

Emma watched the kids bustle around gathering their backpacks and coats, setting
their chairs on their desks and lining up at the door. “I kind of like doing that. Maybe I could come regularly.”

“Ginny would love that.”

Just then, her miniature housemate approached, her daypack slung over her shoulder and Pirate back in his cardboard carrier. “Teacher said I could leave before the bell, since I’m with you,” she said importantly.

“Cool,” Emma said. “I always liked having an excuse to beat the crowd.”

Obviously pleased by the moment, Ginny held her head high as they passed the line of students, thanked the teacher and exited into the still empty hall. They had almost reached the outside door when the bell rang and hordes stampeded toward them.

“Wow. Let’s get out of here,” Jo said, shoving the door open.

They made it outside in the nick of time. Within minutes, the playground and parking lot were a scene of chaos familiar from her own school days. A long line of yellow school buses waited, as did parents on foot and in cars. Walkers dawdled on the playground, sixth-grade girls murmured in trios and tried to look fifteen while the boys wrestled and
whooped and the teachers and playground aides wielded whistles to induce order.

Jo shook her head, smiling reluctantly. “I should make Aunt Julia come and listen to first-graders read.”

The girls’ heads turned. “What?”

“Never mind. Let’s go home.”

Pirate rode on Ginny’s lap. Despite being the object of a group rescue, he seemed bent on becoming her cat. Tiny and puzzled by the irritating collar, he must have felt safest in her quiet presence.

Jo hadn’t been home long when Ryan called. “Hey,” he said. “Long time no see.”

She’d wondered why he hadn’t called or stopped by the evening before. It had irked her even to be aware of his absence. Couldn’t she get by for a couple of days without seeing him? Aunt Julia would be ashamed of her!

“Have you been busy?” she asked.

“Me? I came by Wednesday night. You weren’t home.” It wasn’t quite a question, as if he knew he didn’t have the right to ask this one.

She wouldn’t have minded if he had asked, Jo realized.

“I had dinner with my aunt Julia. She
stopped over at SeaTac on her way to Fairbanks. We haven’t seen each other in months.”

“Ah.” He was quiet for a moment. “I got stuck having dinner with some clients last night.”

Relieved for reasons she preferred not to examine, Jo teased, “It was that bad? What did they serve, liver and onions?”

A smile in his voice, he protested, “Hey, I like liver and onions!”

“No!” She wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

“Afraid so.”

Jo sat sideways in an easy chair and hung her legs over the arm. “I always knew there was something strange about you.”

“I’ll bet you haven’t tried ’em. Why don’t I make them for dinner tonight…”

“You do that,” she said. “Just be sure to air out your house before you invite anyone over.”

He laughed. “Okay. I can take a hint. How does Thai sound to you?”

They agreed he’d pick her up at six, and they would consider a movie later. Tonight was Helen’s turn to cook, and Jo wandered down to the kitchen.

“Hi,” she said. “I wanted to let you know I won’t be here for dinner.”

Helen turned from the sink. “Ryan?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for doing that for Ginny today.” Carrying a can of cola, Helen joined Jo at the table. Popping the top, she said, “I need a caffeine boost before I put dinner on. Thankfully today’s Friday.”

“You look tired.” Jo studied her. “Are you
sure
you shouldn’t be taking sleeping pills?”

“Then I’d really be dragging. No. What if Ginny needed me during the night? Or I got addicted to them?” She shook her head firmly. “I just have to…wait it out. Normal sleep will come eventually.” Under her breath, she added, “I hope.”

Jo got herself a can of pop. “I had fun taking Pirate today. I really didn’t mind.”

“Moving here was the best decision I’ve made yet on my own,” Helen said unexpectedly. “You and Kathleen and Emma have been lifesavers.”

Jo felt a pang of guilt for her unhappiness when she’d discovered she would be living with a six-year-old. Thoughts didn’t count, she told herself, only actions, and she’d been nice to Ginny. Hadn’t she?

“I had qualms about moving in with a bunch of strangers,” she admitted, “but I’m
glad I did, too. It makes me realize how lonely living by myself was.”

Helen nodded eagerly. “That’s it exactly! Friends call and ask how you’re doing or want to have lunch once in a while, but they aren’t
there
when you’re running late in the morning and can’t find something, or are too tired to cook dinner, or whatever. Emma has been so good to Ginny, and now you, too.”

More guilt warred with Jo’s pleasure. “It wasn’t that big a deal, just a couple of hours.”

“But I couldn’t do it.” Helen’s face twisted. “I don’t see how I’m ever going to be able to do things like that. And Ginny needs me to.” She stood up quickly and turned her back. Voice muffled, she said, “I should start dinner.”

“Helen…”

Facing the refrigerator and not turning around, Helen shook her head hard. “I know I’m not the only single parent. Kids are adaptable, and we’ll be fine. I just wanted you to know that I’m grateful.”

“Any time.” Jo bit her lip. “Can I help now? Ryan isn’t picking me up until six.”

Wiping her cheeks, Helen turned at last. Her eyes were still damp, but her expression defied Jo to comment. “Really? Would you
mind starting the hamburger frying while I run up and change? I’m making stroganoff.”

“No problem.”

She’d cut up and added the onions and garlic before Helen came back in jeans and a sweatshirt, her face scrubbed clean and her auburn hair pulled back in that severe—and unflattering—ponytail.

“Thank you!” she said, reaching for the spatula. “I should take your next turn cooking….”

“Don’t be silly.” Jo caught sight of the clock. “I’d better go change.”

“Yes.” Helen’s grin made her look about sixteen. “You had.”

“That bad?”

Upstairs, Jo discovered it
was
that bad. Her jeans had acquired a mysterious gray spot on the rump that she decided, on examination, might be rubber cement. Possibly a permanent fixture. She’d spattered hamburger grease on her T-shirt, her hair stuck out every which way and her mascara had run. Making a face at her image in the mirror, she decided she should be grateful Ryan hadn’t been loitering here this afternoon.

They ate at a small Thai place on Univer
sity Avenue, where Ryan asked about her family. “This Aunt Julia. Are you close?”

Jo found herself talking more openly about her childhood than she ever remembered doing with anyone but Boyce.

Propping her elbows on the table, she said, “I was seven when Mom died. I wish I remembered her better than I do. I should. I was old enough. It’s weird. Even Boyce, who’s three years younger than I am, will pop up with things sometimes that I just don’t remember.”

Ryan listened, his eyes intent. “Maybe forgetting was your way of dealing with the trauma of losing her.”

“Maybe. But Aunt Julia—who’s Mom’s sister—makes it sound as if my mother regretted marrying and having children. So maybe there’s more that I’m blocking out.”

“Regretted?” Ryan frowned. “I don’t know anything about your father, so maybe their marriage stank. But I can’t imagine how she could regret having you.”

Jo gave him a brief, wistful smile. “Thank you. But you see, she was a singer. A hybrid between folk and country, according to Aunt Julia. Sort of like Mary Chapin Carpenter. Really talented. Then she fell in love—” Jo
made a face “—had kids and quit. I actually don’t remember her singing at all, even around the house.”

But then, she thought for the first time, she’d blocked out a great deal. Maybe this was one of the things her childhood self had chosen to forget for reasons she couldn’t conceive.

“This Aunt Julia.” Ryan was still frowning. “Do you believe her? Are you sure she doesn’t
want
to think her sister was unhappy?”

Because he had so exactly echoed her own disloyal reflection, Jo had to scowl back at him. “Why would she lie to me? She
loves
me!”

“Maybe she disapproved of your dad. Maybe she was jealous.” He shrugged. “She might not be lying. She might just have skewed the way she remembers things.”

“No!” The idea upset Jo, making her tone pugnacious. “That’s ridiculous! Aunt Julia says Mom loved us. She just regretted sacrificing her career. Who wouldn’t?”

He stared her down. “A woman who’d made the choice knowingly.”

“People are famous for making foolish choices when they first fall in love,” she said defiantly. “Thus the American divorce rate.”

“What’s your dad say about all this?”

Jo looked away. “He doesn’t say. We’re not close.”

“You’ve never asked him?”

“No.” Jo toyed with her food, still unable to meet those penetrating gray eyes. “I guess I didn’t want to hear the answer. Assuming he would have told me.” She jerked her shoulders. “Assuming he even
knows
whether my mother was happy or miserable. I think he was the kind of husband who came home from work, expected dinner to be on the table, then planted himself in front of the TV. Your All-American husband.”

“I could resent that,” Ryan said mildly.

“You could,” Jo admitted.

He chose not to make an issue out of it. “What kind of father was he?”

“Joyless, stern.” Her moue was designed to hide the pain that still stabbed, however dully. “He put food on the table, came to parent-teacher meetings, gave us warnings if we made too much noise. Sometimes he’d be watching TV or reading the paper, and when one of us interrupted he’d look up with this irritated, disconnected expression, as if he didn’t know who we were.” Jo moved her shoulders to indicate indifference that she
couldn’t quite feel. “He didn’t enjoy having children.”

The compassion in Ryan’s eyes was a balm. “Do you still see him?”

“Oh, I’m a dutiful daughter.” She gave a sharp laugh. “I send birthday and Christmas cards, call every so often. I haven’t actually seen him in three or four years.” Three years, three months and…oh, ten days, give or take a few. She’d felt compelled to drive by the house, saw his car in front and stopped on a little-understood impulse. He’d come to the door, looking as if he barely recognized her. After he’d apparently reminded himself that she was someone he should know, he’d been…pleasant. The familiar hurt and resentment had kept her from going back again, although she knew Boyce, less determined to hold grudges, had seen their father at least once a year.

“You know,” she said, relieved to have an excuse and wishing now that she hadn’t started talking about her family, “we’d better get going or we’ll miss the movie.”

Ryan glanced at his watch, then reached for his wallet. “You’re right.”

The French film was a romance. Jo was always conscious of Ryan, but not usually
self
-conscious. Sitting in the dark theater, upper arm bumping his, she was. Painfully so.