Daddy (20 page)

He called Megan late that night and told her how much he missed her. He could hardly wait until Sunday. And the next morning, the three of them left for the country. They opened the house, which smelled hot and musty, and put the air-conditioning on, and went to buy groceries, and after lunch they went to his father's to pick up Andy. And they found their grandfather looking extremely well, and once again puttering around his wife's garden, but this time his neighbor, Margaret Porter, was helping. She had a new haircut, and he was wearing a new pale blue linen blazer, and as Ollie and the children drove up, they'd been laughing. It was nice seeing him so happy again. And Oliver was relieved. Every time he saw him now, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind of his father holding his mother's hand when she died, and kissing her good-bye. It broke his heart, but finally, after three months, George was looking a lot better.

“Welcome home!” he shouted to the kids, and Margaret went inside to get lemonade and homemade cookies. It was almost like old times, except that Sam said the cookies were better. And Margaret smiled, and stuck up for her late friend.

“Your grandmother was the best cook I ever knew. She made the best lemon meringue pie I ever tasted.” George smiled thinking about it, and it brought back memories to Ollie of his childhood.

“What have you been up to, Dad?” Ollie asked as they sat outside under the old elm tree. They had never put in a pool, and George insisted they didn't miss it. And if he wanted to swim, they could always go to visit the children in Purchase.

“We've been busy. The garden's a lot of work. And we went into New York last week. Margaret had some business to take care of, and we went to an off-Broadway play. It was very good actually.” He sounded surprised, and smiled as he glanced at Margaret, and Oliver looked surprised too. His father had always hated going to the theater. And then George looked at Sam. “How did you do that, son?” Sam told them about the accident, and Melissa added her details, and the two elders were horrified, and as grateful as Oliver had been that they'd survived it. “It makes you realize how precious life is,” he said to the two young people. “And how short. Your friend was only twenty-five years old. That's a terrible shame … terrible …” Ollie saw him take Margaret's hand, and wondered what that meant, and a moment later she took the children inside for more lemonade and a fresh batch of cookies.

“You're looking well, Dad,” Oliver said pointedly after the children were gone, wondering if there was a reason for it, and he was suddenly reminded of his own fling with Megan. Maybe his father was having a little flirtation with his neighbor. But there was no harm in that. They were both lonely people in their seventies and they had a right to a little friendly company now and then, and he knew how lonely his father was without his mother.

“I've been well, Son. Margaret takes very good care of me. She used to be a nurse, you know. And her husband was a doctor.”

“I remember.”

“We'd like to take you to dinner sometime. Maybe in the city. Margaret likes to go into New York from time to time. She says it keeps her young. And I'm not sure if that's what does it, but she has more energy than a woman half her age. She's a terrific girl.” Oliver smiled at the idea of calling a woman of seventy-odd years a girl, but what the hell, and then he almost fell out of his chair, as his father looked at him and smiled, with mischief in his eyes. “We're getting married next month, Oliver. I know that will be difficult for you to understand. But we're not young. We don't have much time, for all we know. And we don't want to waste what's left. I think your mother would have understood it.”

“You're
what?”
Oliver turned in his chair to stare at him. “Mom has been gone for three months, and you're marrying your next-door neighbor?” Had he gone crazy? Was he senile? What was wrong with him? How could he even consider such a thing? It was disgusting.

“You can't be serious.” Oliver was livid, and he looked it.

“I am serious. I have a right to more than just sit alone in a chair, don't you think? Or does it offend you to think of people our age getting 'involved,' as you young people call it. We could have an affair, but I think I owe her the decency of marriage.”

“You owe Mom the decency of respecting her memory. She's not even cold in her grave yet!” He stood up and started to pace up and down as George Watson calmly watched him, and from the kitchen window Margaret saw what was going on with a worried eye. She had told George it would be like that, and he had told her they had a right to their own lives. They weren't dead yet, though they might be soon, but he didn't want to waste the time they had left. And although it was different from his life with Phyllis, he loved her.

“I have every respect for your mother, Oliver. But I have a right to my own life too. So do you. And one day you'll probably remarry. You can't spend the rest of your life mourning Sarah.”

“Thank you for the advice.” It was inconceivable. Until a few weeks before, he had been sitting around in chaste celibacy and his father had been having an
affair
with his neighbor. “I think you ought to give this a great deal of thought.”

“I have. We're getting married on the fourteenth, and we'd like you and the children to come, if you will.”

“I'll do nothing of the sort. And I want you to come to your senses.” But as he said it, Margaret returned to them with George's straw hat, and a cool drink, and the heart pill he took every afternoon, and even Oliver couldn't miss the gentle loving of the look that passed between them.

But he was stiff and unyielding until they left, he hurried the children into the car, thanked Margaret politely, and halfway back to Purchase, remembered that they had forgotten Andy. He called his father when he got home, and told him he'd pick the dog up the following weekend.

“That's fine. We enjoy having him here.” And then, “I'm sorry I upset you, Oliver. I understand what you must feel. But try to see it from my point of view too. And she's a wonderful woman.”

“I'm happy for you, Dad,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I still think you're being hasty.”

“Perhaps. But we have to do what we think is right. And at our age, there isn't much time left. Not good time anyway. You never know what grief is just around the corner.”

“All the more reason not to rush into anything.”

“That depends on how you look at it. Tell me that when you're my age.” And Oliver realized as he hung up, that it disgusted him to think of his father making love to Margaret Porter. And he said as much to Megan that night, when he called her.

“Don't be ridiculous. Do you think your sex drive will die before you do? I certainly hope not. He's right, and he's smart. Why should he sit alone? You have your own life, your kids do too. He has a right to do more than spend the rest of his life alone, reminiscing about your mother. Is that what you really want him to do?” It wasn't, and yet it was, and her view on the subject annoyed him.

“You're as bad as he is. I think you're both oversexed.” And then he told her about Mel finding her blouse and bra, and she only laughed.

“I remember that night well,” she said mischievously.

“So do I. Christ, how I miss you. I'm practically having withdrawals.”

“We'll catch a quickie tomorrow in the pool.” The thought of it, with his children afoot, almost made him shudder. Things were definitely going to be very different.

“We may have to wait until Monday.”

“Don't count on it. We'll think of something.” He smiled as he put down the phone, and wondered if she was right about his father. But he didn't even want to think about that. Imagine his father getting married at his age! The very idea of it was revolting.

Chapter 17

Oliver picked Megan up at the train and she was wearing short shorts and a little halter top in white with black polka dots, and all he wanted to do was tear off her clothes and make love to her in the car, but he restrained himself while she laughed, and stroked his crotch as they drove home to the children.

“Stop that … Megan Townsend, you are driving me crazy!”

“That, my dear, is the whole point.” And then, as though switching gears, she told him all about Friday's successful auction….

The kids were in the pool when they drove up, with Sam's arm in a huge garbage bag so he could swim, and Mel lying on a raft in a new bikini she had bought in the south of France. And both children looked up with interest as their father approached them with Megan. He introduced everyone, and then took Megan inside to change, but as he showed her the small dressing room, she pulled him swiftly into it with her, and reached her hand into his shorts and began caressing him until he groaned in a whisper.

“Megan … don't! … the kids …”

“Shh … they'll never know the difference.” She had missed him as much as he had missed her. After a month of orgasmic feasting, they had gone three whole days without each other. And she had the door locked and his pants down around his knees in a moment, as she licked and sucked and kissed, and he pulled off her halter, and then slid down her shorts. And as usual, she had nothing beneath them. And then she was on her knees, kissing him, and he gently pushed her down, and made frantic love to her on the dressing room floor, as she shuddered and moaned, and just as he came with a sound of animal pleasure, he could hear Sam start to shout, and bang on several doors looking for him, and then start to pound on the dressing room door, as Oliver jumped a foot and stared at Megan wild-eyed. He put a finger to his lips, begging her not to give him away as she giggled.

“Dad! Are you in there?” It was a tiny room, and Oliver was sure the child could hear his breathing. He shook his head, wanting Megan to say he wasn't.

“No, he's not. I'll be right out.” She spoke from the floor, with his father on top of her, awash with terror.

“Okay. Do you know where he is?”

“I don't know. He said he was going to get something.”

“Okay.” And then more door slamming and he was gone, and Ollie leapt to his feet, threw cold water on his face, pulled up his pants, and tried to straighten his hair as she laughed at him.

“I told you we'd manage it somehow.”

“Megan, you're crazy!” He was whispering, convinced the child knew, but she wasn't frightened.

“Relax. He's ten years old, he has no idea what his father is up to.”

“Don't be so sure.” He kissed her quickly and unlocked the door, as she casually fished in her bag for her bikini. “I'll see you at the pool.” He just hoped she would behave herself there or Mel would be horrified. But on the other hand, she had just spent the summer with her mother and her twenty-five-year-old lover. He had a right to his own life, didn't he, and just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the echo of his father's words … but this was different, wasn't it? Or was it?

And he found Sam waiting for him in the kitchen. He had wanted a Coke and couldn't find one. “Where were you, Dad?”

“I was in the garage, looking for a wrench.”

“What for?” Oh God, leave me alone, I don't know … it had been so simple while they were away, and now this was so crazy.

He poured Sam a Coke, and went back to the pool, where Megan was slowly easing herself into the water in a minuscule red bikini. Her cascade of dark hair was piled high on her head, and Mel was watching her with a look of female appraisal.

The two women never spoke, and Oliver felt like a large puppy dog, circling the pool, watching them both, keeping an eye on Sam, and feeling incredibly nervous.

“I like your bathing suit,” Megan said to Mel. It was pink and ruffled and comparatively pure compared to her own, which was barely more than two tiny patches on her breasts, and a loincloth with a thong. But she wore it well. She had an incredible body.

“I got it in France.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“All right.” She didn't want to talk about the accident anymore, and she didn't think Megan knew. Her father had said she was a casual friend he hadn't seen in a while. “We've only been home for two days.” Megan swam past her with long, smooth strokes, and a few minutes later, Mel left her raft, to make a spectacular dive. It was as though there was a competition between the two, and the tension around the pool was dense all afternoon, particularly between the two women.

They had hot dogs for lunch, and Megan began talking about spending time in England as a child. But it was obvious Mel wasn't impressed. And Megan made no particular effort with her or Sam. It made Oliver uncomfortable watching all of them, and he was almost relieved when they dropped her off at her place, that evening, in town. Her eyes blew him a kiss, and she disappeared with a wave, as Mel visibly relaxed in the car, and Sam snorted.

“She's nice, isn't she?” Ollie said, regretting the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. Mel turned on him like a snake, with a look of fury.

“She looks like a whore.”

“Melissa!”

“Did you see that bathing suit?”

“Yeah.” Sam grinned, and then looked chastened as his sister shot him a quelling look in the backseat.

“She's a very nice girl,” Oliver defended as they drove home.

“I don't think she likes kids very much,” Sam offered.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “She didn't say very much. But she sure looks good, doesn't she, Dad?”

“She's smart too. She's an editor with a publishing house.”

“So what? All she cares about is flaunting her body around.” Mel had sensed her sexuality, and had hated it, unlike her male relatives, whose eyes had been glued to her all afternoon.

Oliver let the subject rest, and that night after Sam was in bed, Mel came out of her room with a frown. “I guess you can give her these.” She handed him the blouse and bra she'd found in her room two days before. “They're hers, aren't they, Dad?”

“What makes you say that?” He felt as though he'd been caught in the act, as though he'd defiled their home, which he had. But he had a right to do what he wanted to, didn't he? After all, he was a grown man. “I told you, they're Daph's.”

“No, they're not. Daphne's got much bigger boobs. These are Megan's.” She spoke accusingly and he could feel himself blush as he looked at his daughter.

“Look, Mel, there are some things that grown-ups do, that just don't involve kids, and are better left alone.”

“She's a tramp.” Mel's eyes blazed at him, but now he was angry.

“Don't say that! You don't even know the girl.”

“No, and I don't want to. And she doesn't give a damn about us. She just has her tongue hanging out over you, like a dog or something. I can't stand her.” The rivalry of two women fighting over him seemed strange as he listened to her. And he couldn't help wondering why she hated Megan. Except that he had to admit, Megan had made no special effort to win them over. She had talked mostly to him, and only occasionally to his children. It hadn't really turned out the way he had wanted.

“She's just a friend, that's all. It's no big deal, Mel. Relax.”

“You mean that?” She looked relieved.

“What?”

“You're not in love with her?”

“I don't know. I like her.”

“Well, she doesn't like you as much. She likes herself more.” He wondered if Mel was right, and if she was being jealous or perceptive.

“Don't worry about it.” But then as she left the room, he found himself thinking again about his father. Was he being a jealous child, like Mel, or was he right to object to his marrying Margaret Porter? And what right did he have to interfere? Was he going to keep him company at night and on weekends? Was he going to be there for him, bringing him his heart pills? Oliver wanted his own life, and his father had a right to the same, however much it made Oliver lonely for his mother.

Ollie decided to call him that night, and when he did, Margaret answered. It made him jump for a minute, and then he relaxed and asked to speak to his father.

“Hi, Dad … I just wanted to tell you that …” He didn't know how to say it. “I love you very much, that's all. You do what's right for you, and forget about the rest. You're old enough to know what you want by now, and what you need. And if she makes you happy,” tears stung his eyes as he said the words, “go for it! You have my blessing!”

There was a little sob at the other end, and then George Watson cleared his throat and thanked him. “She's a fine woman, Son … not your mother, by any means,” as he said it, he hoped Margaret couldn't hear him, but he owed Oliver that much. Phyllis had been his mother, after all, “but she's a good soul, and I love her.”

“Good luck to you both.”

“Will you come to our wedding?”

“Damn right I will.”

“September fourteenth. Now don't forget it.” Oliver laughed. His father sounded young again, and he was happy for him. What the hell, he had a right to it. More power to him if he could find a woman he loved and be happy with her.

He called Megan after he hung up, feeling better again, but she was out, and he felt his heart give a little tug as he left his name on the machine, and then lay on the empty bed she had left him. He wondered if it had all been a crazy dream, and if Mel was right. But Megan had never pretended to be anything other than she was. She was out to have a good time, and not hurt anyone. She didn't want anything more than that … she didn't want ties … or husbands … or homes … or children … and as he lay there thinking about her, he wondered if his summer romance was over. It had been fun, but it wasn't going to be easy now. And Megan wasn't going to hang around, waiting for him. And the kids sure as hell hadn't taken to her. Sometimes, life just wasn't easy.