Claire Knows Best (6 page)

Well, all right, that was slightly out of context, and quite possibly misquoted. I don’t want to start a new Amazonian, men-hating
cult for women scorned. But the fact remains that when a woman has been hurt, it takes a while to trust again. I’m not ready
to turn over my heart, soul, and body to someone else just yet. Not even Greg.

“I can’t,” I say softly. “I’m sorry.”

His jaw kind of drops like he can’t believe I didn’t throw myself into his waiting arms and cry, “Yes, yes, a million times,
yes!”

“Wait. You mean not at all? Or not now?”

I smile and snuggle close. “Ask me again another time, and we’ll see. Okay?”

“Not exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just not ready to make that kind of a promise. Not while everything is so up in the air with my career
and now the house. Darcy’s baby.” Darcy’s baby? Since when did my ex-husband’s wife’s due date factor into things?

“Scratch that last one.” I shake my head. “Am I nuts?”

“A little.” He drops his hands from my waist and I can sense his irritation. “Let’s get you to my mom’s before she calls 9-1-1
looking for you.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to call my cell phone? Or yours?”

“Yes, but you don’t know my mom that well. Yet.” He opens my van door and waits for me to slide under the wheel. “I knew you
were going to say no.”

Laughter escapes me. “I know. You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“Not true. If you’d said yes, I would have been the happiest man alive.”

Leaning over, I kiss his lips softly and put my hand to his cheek. “And the most afraid.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He shrugs and I think he’s still stinging a little from my rejection.

“We have time. We haven’t been seeing each other that long.”

He gives me a serious look, apparently not willing to lighten the mood just yet. “It didn’t take me long to know you were
the woman I wanted, Claire. I think I knew it from the time you had that crazy panic attack in the physician’s clinic last
fall.”

“The day we met?” To be honest, I fell for him that day, too. I decide to tell him so. It’s the least I can do after turning
down his proposal. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I was pretty smitten with you that day, too. Thought you had eyes
just like Andy Garcia, and you know how I like him.”

A smile tips the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make you forget all about him.” Reaching forward, he brushes my jawline with
his thumb. I love it when he does that. “So, it was love at first sight for both of us.”

“Apparently so.” Andy Garcia who? I move my head to the side a little and give him a flirty grin. I’m warming to the idea
that he can’t live another day without me, wants to sweep me into his arms and take me to the cave.

“Then why not just get it over with? Why live down the block from each other when we could join our households? It would be
a lot easier all around.”

Easier? Hmm. Not exactly what I was looking for. That line of reasoning is more like the practical Greg I know and it effectively
douses the flame of spontaneity that had begun to rise from the ashes of my cynical heart. “Maybe I don’t want to just ‘get
it over with,’” I say in a huffy tone. “I was married for all the wrong reasons the first time. If I do it again, I want to
do it right. Under God and before my friends and family. I mean, good grief, even Linda and Mark went all out and they were
just renewing their vows.”

He takes a step back and I see beta male all over him. And that makes me even madder because I was really getting attached
to Alpha Greg. “You want to join our households together just to make it easier? Easier for whom? I’ll have two more people
to cook for, clean for, do laundry for. Sure—it’ll be easier on you. But I have a hard enough time keeping up with things
now when I’m on a deadline.”

Even while I’m spouting the words, I know that’s not fair. But golly, does he have to be so cut and dried about the most romantic
day of our lives? Of mine anyway. Maybe I’m just a sad substitute for his late wife. If he can’t have her, maybe romance isn’t
important.

The creases between his eyes deepen with a frown and his eyes have grown stormy. “Well, if that’s the way you think about
being a wife, maybe you shouldn’t be one.”

“Well, Rick would certainly agree with you there. I guess I just don’t have what it takes to keep a man home at night.” I
slam the door and then realize the window is rolled up and I have one more thing to say. I press the button and the window
buzzes down. “Aren’t you lucky you dodged that bullet?” I glare and roll the window back up.

From the corner of my eye I see him just standing there. Staring at me through the window. For effect I hit the auto-lock—which
is stupid since he has his own set of keys to my house and van, in case of emergencies.

But I know I’ve gone too far as soon as I hear the locks engage. He spins on his heel. I watch through the rearview mirror
as he goes back to his truck with jerky strides. I have nothing else to do but start the van and head off.

By the time I’m halfway to Helen’s house, I’m starting to cool off and it hits me how stupid I am. The man of my dreams asked
me to marry him tonight. And what did I do? I turned him down, then turned on him completely. Man, I am still carrying much
more baggage than I realized.

I find myself watching the headlights on his Avalanche in the rearview mirror. Just to stay connected to him, I guess. Like
if I lose sight of him, maybe I’ll lose him forever.

We get to his mom’s house, and neither of us has much to say as we each grab handfuls of bags and head up the walk. The front
door swings open about the time I rally the gumption to apologize. Disappointment slips over me at the missed opportunity.
But that’s the way life is. Sometimes you have one chance to get it right and you better step up to the plate in the moment,
or that’s that. My chance came while I was still wallowing in my anger. Now Greg is otherwise engaged. And I’ll have to wait
until some other time to try to salvage our relationship.

Sadie, his gorgeous, raven-haired daughter, runs out wearing an adorable lacy nightgown and Garfield slippers. The joy on
the six-year-old’s face as she hurls herself into her daddy’s arms effectively overrides my disappointment. I laugh as Greg
drops the bags, although not in time to brace himself for impact.

Oomph!

“I missed you, Daddy! There was a tornado, did you know that? Grandma and me went to the basement, and Grandma said no candles
because they might blow over and burn the house down. So we had flashlights, but the batteries ran out of mine and we only
had Grandma’s after that. But then the tornado stopped and besides the lights never actually went out anyway. We were just
taking pre-precautious.”

“Precautions?”

“Yeah.” She glances down at the shopping bags on the ground. “Did you buy me something?”

“Slow down, Miss Jabberbox,” Greg says with a chuckle. “Everything in these bags is for Miss Claire. Not you. A big, giant
tree fell on her house and she can’t go inside to get any of her clothes. So she had to go buy all new clothes and makeup
for herself. And all that girlie stuff you women like.”

“Can I wear some makeup?” Her eyes, full of mischief, slide sideways and she grins, knowing the answer before her dad even
says it.

“Maybe when you’re eighty and too old for the boys to chase you.”

“Eew!” But she giggles just the same. “Besides, you already promised I can wear it when I turn thirteen.”

“Please, baby.” He let out a moan. “Don’t even start talking about becoming a teenager.”

I can’t help but laugh at the two. I wonder how Sadie’s going to feel about having to share her dad with a woman and four
other kids, eventually.

If I had to place bets, I’d say she’s not going to be too happy about it. I’ve only caught a glimpse of her less-than-angelic
side a couple of times during our association, but let me tell you, when she lets loose, it ain’t pretty.

Helen appears, face alight with pleasure as she beckons me up the steps and ushers me inside. “It’s about time you two showed
up. I came close to calling 9-1-1.”

In spite of the argument of just a few minutes ago, I look over my shoulder and grin at Greg. He’s now carrying Sadie on his
back. She’s holding on like a spider monkey, and he’s retrieved the bags from the ground. He sends me a wink.

Gathering a deep breath, I feel relief wash over me. Though it’s obvious we still have some talking to do to clear the air,
we’ve weathered more than one storm tonight. The winds of discontent have calmed and everything has settled back into its
proper place.

M
y all-time favorite house in the whole world is the
Father of the Bride
house—the one in the modern remake starring Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, and Kimberly Williams. I adore that house. In my
wildest dreams, it’s mine. And guess what? Greg’s mom owns one almost just like it. I swear. Enormous, white, two-story, shuttered
windows. The all-American dream home. So now that I’ve settled into the idea of being roomies with a seventy-year-old woman,
I’m actually getting excited about the prospect of staying in this house for a couple of weeks or so.

“Let me show you to Greg’s old room,” Helen says. She takes a couple of my bags and my fingers feel the relief in the creases
where the plastic handles have been gouging into soft, writer’s-hands skin.

“Why not just put her up in a guest room, Mom? You have three of them besides my room and Sadie’s room.”

That would make this a six-bedroom home? Ooh, I am so coveting. And why doesn’t Greg want me in his old room? Does he have
something to hide?

“You know good and well I’m turning one of them into an office and the others haven’t been dusted in a year. This came up
too suddenly and your room was the easiest to fix up on the spur of the moment.” She glanced over her shoulder as she ascended
the steps.

Now I feel guilty. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Helen.”

“Huh?” She waves her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m thrilled to have you. Just explaining to my son here why you’re using
his room.” She turns to him. “Besides, what do you have to hide?”

I laugh. Way to go, Helen.

“Daddy?” Sadie tries to turn Greg’s face to her. This is a little difficult with her hanging onto his neck. I try not to be
irritated with seeing him juggling her while trying not to fall down the stairs. Come, Claire, get it together. You’re the
adult. Don’t get jealous over a little girl. “Do you have a secret in your room?”

“My question exactly,” I say, giving him a nudge. It feels good to be close to him, to tease him, and to be on the receiving
end of his smile after our argument.

“I have nothing to hide from any of the women in my life.” His grin lifts my spirits. “I’m just afraid it still smells like
old gym socks.”

Helen gives a harrumph. “Over my dead body. Besides, the main reason I want Claire in your room is because it has the best
light and a nice view of the duck pond behind the house. I thought that might inspire Claire while she writes.”

I’m rendered speechless by her thoughtfulness. I’m truly being treated as an honored guest rather than an imposition.

I think she understands my emotional response, because she gives me a wink and continues to lead the way up the gray carpeted
steps and into a hallway that boasts shiny wood floors, an Oriental runner, and a round wooden corner table with a large vase
of fake wildflowers. It’s just lovely. Like any home you’d see in a movie or on television.

As a child I used to wonder about people who owned houses like this. The beautiful people who seemed to live in a fairy tale.
At least to me, growing up in the home my modest-income military parents could afford, the thought of living in the sort of
place Greg grew up in was a fantasy.

I suppose it’s a shallow thought. But I still want a house like this. I spent the first five years after my divorce working
all the time, writing more books than I had time to write, spending less and less time with God and family, and relying heavily
on my mother for the hands-on raising of my children. All in pursuit of this ideal.

It took carpal tunnel syndrome and a forced sabbatical to bring me out of my office and help me reconnect with God and my
kids. Not to mention I found my best friend, Linda, during that time, and Greg—who is most likely my soul mate.

“Okay, here it is.” Greg’s mom throws open a mahogany-stained door, and I walk into the most beautiful bedroom I’ve ever seen.
I step onto an Oriental rug spread out over a shining wood floor. My eye is immediately drawn to a rich wood desk with a massive
leather chair I could sink into and write in all day. I think I suck all the air from the room with my intake of breath. “It’s
gorgeous,” I manage. I hate to drop all these bags on the bed and clutter it up.

And speaking of the bed, it’s a four-poster. The top of the mattress is high. I will not sit down on this bed. I will climb
up onto it. The comforter is lovely, a neutral-colored base with tiny roses and bits of green.

I never want to leave this room. It’s twice as large as mine at home. And there’s a window seat. I imagine myself curled up
after a shower, my chenille robe wrapped around me as I read my Beth Moore devotions.

“The bathroom is thataway.” Helen’s voice pulls me from my fantasy and she waves toward a door I had assumed to be another
closet.

I’m marveling at the pretty rose border at the bottom of the walls when it occurs to me. As much as I love the room, nothing
about it speaks of a man like Greg. I toss a glance at Helen. “I can’t imagine a teenage boy living in here.”

“Believe me, it didn’t look like this when I was a kid.” He drops his bags on the floor and disengages Sadie’s hands from
his throat, gently sliding her to the floor. “The day I left home, Mom hired someone to remodel and redecorate.”

“Not the very day.” Helen gives him a quirky grin, and it’s easy to see where he gets his sense of humor. “It took me a month
to get a contractor to do the work.”